Summary: A deal with the Radio Demon is never wise.
Notes: The phrase ‘Hook, Line and Sinker’ can have two meanings: (1) that someone has been completely deceived or tricked. And (2) If you fall for someone 'hook, line, and sinker' it means you've fallen in love with them completely and without reservation. You are entirely enamoured with the person.
CW: Takes place during s1ep5, Fake Dating, More lore, smut will follow in future parts
Word Count: 2.9K
Prologue| Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5| Part 6| Part 7| Part 8| Part 9| Part 10| Epilogue
Chapter One: It's a Deal
You stood beside Lucifer as the main doors swung open of the Hazbin Hotel.
“Hey Dad—”
“CHAAAARLIE!” Lucifer didn’t even let her finish.
He scooped her up like a bear snatching its favourite cub. “It’s so good to see you! Haha!”
Charlie wheezed. “Dad— can’t— breathe— good to see you too!”
You tried not to laugh. You really did.
But something else caught your attention.
Because just behind father and daughter, standing perfectly still in the centre of the lobby, was Alastor.
The Radio Demon’s smile was stretched wide as ever but something about it was wrong.
His left eye twitched. He looked at Lucifer with a smile that you didn't like.
But the moment his gaze slid to you, his expression changed. The smile remained… but it sharpened. As if he were a beast in tall grass and you were another wearing different stripes. You held his stare without blinking.
Charlie, still catching her breath, finally peeled Lucifer off her.
She turned and the moment her eyes fell on you, her entire face lit up with genuine warmth. “Aunt!”
Your heart softened. “Hello, darling.”
You pulled her into a hug — gentle, unlike Lucifer’s rib-cracking enthusiasm. She melted into it instantly, exhaling the tension she didn’t realize she had. You cupped her cheek after, brushing your thumb tenderly across her skin. “How are you doing, sweet girl?”
“I’m doing GREAT! Totally. Absolutely!” Her voice cracked, which made you believe all wasn’t right as she claimed. She cleared her throat quickly. “Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!”
Right on cue, two Egg Boiz popped party poppers behind her, confetti raining down in celebration.
A soft mewl sounded at your feet.
KeeKee slinked up to Lucifer first, brushing her furry cheek against his leg. Lucifer immediately melted, crouching down with starry eyes. “Oh, hewwo, KeeKee!”
KeeKee chirped once… then promptly abandoned him and launched straight into your arms. You caught her easily, and she burrowed against your chest with a happy tremble.
Lucifer gasped theatrically. “Traitor.”
You smirked.
Above you, Razzle and Dazzle swooped down. Lucifer perked up. “Razzle! Dazzle! Still fun-sized! You two taking care of my wittle girl? You better be!”
Lucifer straightened, as you both walked in. “Wow, this place sure looks, uh… uh-huh. Yep. Definitely… has a lot of character.”
You snorted under your breath.
And then he released an affronted sound as he reached the bar. “Oh, what in the unholy hell is that?”
You almost choked on your own breath, trying not to laugh. The bar truly was… something. But before you could voice your amusement, the lights dimmed ever so slightly, and a ripple moved through the air.
A shadow unfolded. Alastor stepped cleanly out of it like a page turning in a book.
“Just some of the renovations we had done,” he said, voice warm, lilting, too pleasant. “Adds a bit of colour, don’t you think?”
Lucifer stares at him like he’s an infestation on the wall. He lifted his cane and pointed it directly at the Radio Demon, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “And you are?”
Alastor vanished from in front of him and reappeared at his back, posture uncomfortably cheerful.
“Alastor,” he said brightly. “A pleasure to be meeting you, sir. Quite the pleasure. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.” He gestured vaguely at his much shorter height. “You are…much shorter in real life.”
You narrowed your eyes.
Lucifer turned, sizing him up with disdain. “Who is this? Who is this now? Are you the bellhop?”
“Haha! No! I,” Alastor said with impeccable patience, “am the host of the hotel. Perhaps you’ve heard of me from my radio broadcast.”
Lucifer’s expression remained perfectly, beautifully blank. “Hm. Nope. Must be why Charlie calls it the Has-Been Hotel! Ahaha!”
“It was actually my idea,” Alastor replied, still smiling.
“Well, it’s not very clever.”
“Ha ha…” His smile tightened like a garrote. “…fuck you.”
Charlie nearly chokes.
You? Oh, you perk up instantly. Because if Lucifer’s being petty, you absolutely will join him.
You lean casually on your brother’s shoulder, arms crossed, expression sweet and venomous. “Oh dear, if you’re the host, it’s only natural your sense of interior designing is shit. I mean, just look at all that red.” You vaguely gesture towards him.
Lucifer bites back a laugh.
Alastor’s smile sharpens.
You tilted your head, “Though I suppose ‘host’ is a flexible title. Parasites use it too.”
Lucifer wheezes. “Oh! She’s hilarious.”
Charlie wedged herself bodily between you, Lucifer and Alastor before the next verbal jab could land. She held her hands out, one toward you and one toward Alastor, forcing both of you apart with the steely determination of someone who had absolutely had it.
Her expression at you—oh, that pinched little glare—carried the weight only a niece could muster. Aunt… really? You? I expected better.
You offered her a perfectly innocent smile. Charlie cleared her throat dramatically, “Okay! Okay! Anyway!” she chirped, overly bright. “Dad, Aunt… look at this lovely parlour! A place where people can get to know each other and share secrets and stories and, um… intimate feelings!”
Charlie continued valiantly. “Without Alastor, we wouldn’t have been able to pretty it up this much!”
Alastor’s hand settled on her shoulder in a paternal, bone-deep condescending pat.
“Charlie has a very unique vision,” he said with a smooth, faux-genteel purr. “I am happy to fulfill her more… bizarre requests.”
Charlie beamed. “Oh! Thank you, Alastor.”
Lucifer’s jaw clenched hard enough you could hear his teeth grind. Alastor’s smile widened the exact moment Lucifer's temper flared.
“Quite an impressive young lady,” Alastor drawled, red eyes cutting a sidelong glance at Lucifer. “We’re all very proud of her.”
Lucifer’s nostrils flared. He stepped forward, clearing his throat loudly. “Charlie, my dear,” he said with strained brightness, “why don’t you introduce me to your other friends?”
He walked right between Charlie and Alastor, shouldering past with petty, dramatic flare. You hid your smirk behind a delicate cough.
Charlie hurried ahead, gesturing excitedly at the lounge area. “Oh! Of course. This is Vaggie—my girlfriend!”
Lucifer’s face lit up like a carnival. “My golly! You like girls? So do I!”
Before Vaggie could even blink, Lucifer swooped in and hugged her. “You put ’er there, Maggie! Ha! She’s so pretty!”
Vaggie made a sound like a deflating balloon.
You stepped in gracefully, rescuing the poor thing with a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“I’m glad Charlie has someone like you in her life,” you said kindly.
Vaggie visibly relaxed, grateful to have someone in this family with a normal volume level. “Uh, lovely to meet you, uh, sir! Madam!”
Charlie continued, happy again. “And this is Sir Pentious and Angel Dust, our guests!”
Sir Pentious snapped to attention with military fervour. “Your Majesty—!” He tripped immediately, fell face-first into the cookies.
“Heya, short king~” Angel winked at Lucifer, then blew you a playful kiss. “And hey to you too, femme fatale.”
Lucifer blinked. You inclined your head, amused.
“Husk is our bartender,” Charlie said, pointing.
Husk raised a depressed talon. “Nice to meet you.”
“And Niffty is our housekeeper!”
Niffty zoomed into view, skittering up Lucifer’s coat like an excited squirrel. “Hello! I clean!”
Lucifer stared down at her, uncomfortable.
Then the chandelier gave a dramatic creak… and crashed to the floor in a cloud of blinding dust. Everyone coughed.
Lucifer laughed. “Alright, then.”
Without warning, Lucifer burst into a full, dramatic musical number. And you leaned back, watching him with fondness filling your chest.
*
After watching both Lucifer and Alastor battle it out, you’d say you hadn’t had such fun in ages. “Well!” he declared grandly. “I’m sure Charlie can handle showing me around–”
He tugged her forward with eager enthusiasm. He didn’t get far.
A shadow peeled cleanly off the wall in front of them and solidified into Alastor—smile bright, polite, and so sharp it could slice bone. “Nonsense,” Alastor chimed, before his hand took Charlie’s shoulder. “Charlie and I started the hotel together, and we’ll show it off together. Right, Charlie?”
He didn’t wait for her reply; he dragged her forward with eerie cheer, only stopping when she squeaked faintly and found her footing again.
“Oh right!” Charlie said. You exhaled slowly, amused and already tired.
Charlie pushed forward, determined to salvage some normalcy. “Okay! So, this is the main hall where guests can—uh—relax! And here’s the dining area!”
Vaggie trailed beside her. You walked alongside your brother, hands clasped behind you, taking in the hotel’s ambience.
Lucifer whispered to you. “Do you see this? Do you see this?” he hissed, eyes narrowing into slits. “He’s trying to hog my daughter.”
“Totally.” you murmured back. “Maybe I should try to teach him a lesson?”
Lucifer cackled. “Oh I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”
*
“So, once we have the proof that redemption is possible, this whole hotel will be full of demons wanting to check out into Heaven! We just need a little time to prove it…” After Charlie is done explaining to Lu, Vaggie takes over and Charlie slides next to you.
“I’m really glad you came too,” she murmured. “I… didn’t call you because I thought you’d be too busy.”
You turned toward her, one brow raised. “Charlie,” you said quietly, brushing a curl from her cheek with the back of your knuckles. “I always have time for you.”
Charlie’s smile bloomed instantly—warm and bright, like a sunrise in a place that rarely saw one. She slipped her arm through yours, leaning into you. “I’m glad,” she whispered. “It means a lot.”
You squeezed her hand. “Of course I came. I could never deny my adorable little niece… or my brother.”
Charlie snorted, covering her mouth to stifle laughter. “You two are still so in sync,” she said, fondness softening her features. “Even after… well… everything that happened.”
There was a beat of silence—shared and quiet but not awkward. The past didn’t need to be named every time; it was simply understood, like an old scar you both carried.
“Oh! Speaking of—” she said suddenly, her tone flicking back to bright teasing. “Dad was grilling you about your love life again, wasn’t he? I heard when you both came in.”
You groaned loud enough for Vaggie to look over in alarm.
“Oh god, yes. Again.” You lifted your hand dramatically to your forehead. “He does it every few decades like clockwork. ‘Why aren’t you dating? Why don’t you find your one true love?’” You mimicked Lucifer’s sing-song voice almost too accurately.
Charlie burst into laughter—loud, unrestrained, pure. “Oh my GOD, Aunt—stop!” she cackled. “That’s EXACTLY how he sounds!”
You grinned wickedly. “He means well.”
Charlie nudged you with a knowing smile. “You say that now about love, but… you never know.”
“Uh-huh. Nope. Don’t you dare, Charlotte Morningstar. Or I will be avoiding you and your dad for the next century.”
Charlie stuck out her tongue at you and went back to explaining to Lucifer something about hiding drug stashes. You halted as you felt the presence of Radio Demon no longer behind you.
“Hmm…” You grinned and turned back, and what a delicious scene you came to be…
“Lovely,” he chirped, stepping over the collapsed demon. “Good talk, my good man! Always nice to catch up.” Husk remained a crumpled heap on the tiles—still quivering, still terrified, still very much alive on account of Alastor’s good mood when Alastor turned the corner with that prim, pleased little bounce in his step.
And then he froze.
You were leaning against the far wall as if you had been waiting for him the entire time—one heel resting casually over the other, arms crossed, head tilted. A lazy grin carved itself onto your lips, wicked and knowing. Far too knowing.
Alastor stopped dead.
“Well, now,” you drawled, voice smooth as poison. “What will Charlie say if she sees you behaving like that with one of her friends?”
The smile on his face stayed frozen but the edges stiffened.
“Her trust in you,” you continued, pushing off the wall and strolling closer, “whatever teeny, tiny scrap you’ve managed to build… will crumble. Completely.”
You tapped your chin thoughtfully. “And when you fail to do whatever task Rosie has assigned you here, she might decide to coop you up again. Another seven years, perhaps.”
The horror that flickered across his face was quick, but not quick enough to escape your eyes. You smirked, satisfied, and turned as though to leave.
But his voice snapped out, sharp, tense. “Wait.”
You halted mid-step, glancing back, almost bored.
Alastor stepped closer, folding his hands neatly behind him, regaining his theatrical composure like slipping back into a familiar mask.
“How about,” he said lightly, “we make a deal?”
For a moment, there was silence.
And then you laughed. You strode back toward the Radio Demon, your presence cold and hot all at once, unsettling in a way even he couldn’t pin.
“Alastor,” you murmured, your voice silk dipped in venom. Your eyes shifted—bleeding from their usual shade into that deep, ancient demonic red that marked what you truly were. “What makes you think you have anything to offer me?” A slow step closer. “Me—who has everything?”
Alastor did not move. Could not. Watching you with Charlie earlier had lulled him into a dangerous complacency—he had almost forgotten the truth.
And the truth was simple: You were one of the original tempters of humanity. And if he wanted anything from you, he would have to tempt the tempter.
Alastor straightened. “Your Grace,” he said lightly, inclining his head, “I will not waste your precious time. The deal is simple.”
You raised a brow, amused already.
He tapped his cane once against the floor. “When I was in my heyday,” he began, voice oiled with nostalgia, “killing Overlords left and right…” A grin slipped onto his face, feral and fond— “…I caused so much delightful destruction that it threw Hell’s hierarchy into complete disarray. Power swelled, toppled, reformed in terribly inconvenient ways.”
He sighed, wistful. “The Queen did not appreciate the inconsistency.”
Your interest flickered. “Lilith?” you asked, tapping your chin. “Oh, yes. I remember my sister-in-law mentioning something about that.”
Alastor nodded curtly. “Indeed. And thus—she put a…chain on me.”
His smile tightened. “A very binding one. Preventing me from killing any Overlords. Though I can still kill sinners, of course.”
You snorted.
Alastor pressed on, voice crisp. “According to the Queen herself, only two beings may lift this restriction.” His eyes darkened. “Her… or you. Since you—after all—created the Overlord system in the first place.”
“Ahh,” you hummed. “So that’s why Rosie picked you. She thinks I’ll lift the chain off her little pet.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. He cleared his throat, smoothing his coat, regaining composure with impressive speed. “In return,” he continued, “should you free me… I will relieve you of the romantic expectations your family has placed upon you.”
Your voice flattened. “…Excuse me?”
He coughed once, then clarified, “I would act as your lover. Temporarily.”
There was a heartbeat of silence. Then you burst into laughter.
He stiffened.
“Oh, Alastor,” you cackled, wiping a non-existent tear. “You look so wildly out of your depth right now.”
Alastor glared, “I assure you,” he bit out, “I am a very quick learner.”
“Mmhmm,” you hummed, circling him. “And what exactly do you think you’d be learning?”
His smile stretched, too many teeth showing. “Whatever you require.”
Alastor saw it—The dangerous glint of curiosity sparking behind your eyes. He had piqued your curiosity.
Your laughter softened into something slower, silkier. You tilted your head, studying him. “Well…” you drawled, tapping a finger lightly against your chin, “Why not?”
Alastor blinked. Slightly. It was the closest he ever came to showing surprise.
“I’ll lift your chains,” you said lightly, “but only after you’ve managed to convince everyone that we are—” you fluttered your fingers dismissively, “—together. Madly, passionately, foolishly in love.”
Alastor’s grin twitched.
“Temporarily, of course,” you assured. “We can stage a dramatic breakup later. I’ll play the damsel in distress. Heart shattered. Tears shed.” You winked. “And Lucifer will never convince me to find love ever again.”
Alastor’s eyes gleamed. Oh, he liked that. He liked that very much. He couldn't wait to see the king’s expression when he got wind of this. Watching Lucifer choke on it? Marvellous.
Alastor extended his hand. “My dear,” he purred, “you have yourself a deal.”
You placed your hand in his, slow and deliberate.
A crack of emerald lightning burst from his palm, spiralling up your wrist. At the same time, golden light unfurled from yours—warm, ancient, curling through the green like a fire meeting storm.
The colours collided mid-air, blending, twisting, binding.
__________________________
After witnessing the Radio Demon ‘defend’ the hotel, you started to question if you’d made the right choice. But watching Lu and Charlie trying to mend and understand each other with their song made you forget your worries.
“Okay, I can get you the meeting,” Lucifer said. “But once you’re in Heaven, I won’t be able to go with you. Will you be okay?”
Charlie smiled. “I’ll be fine.”
Lucifer’s face melted. “That’s my girl.”
“Well,” you said lightly, folding your arms, “what if I stay here, so Lu doesn’t worry himself into another early mid-life crisis?”
Lucifer made a noise of protest, but Charlie beat him to it—she stepped forward, wagging a gentle, scolding finger at you. “Aunt,” she sighed with affection and exasperation, “remember your promise.”
You put both hands up, surrendering dramatically. “Yes, yes. Since things are getting serious, I’ll stay at the hotel.” You leaned closer, lowering your voice in theatrical secrecy. “And I solemnly swear not to smite anyone without your explicit permission. Happy?”
Charlie burst into a bright laugh. “Very happy.”
Lucifer released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He pulled you into a hug. “Thank you.” Then he turned back to Charlie, “Good luck, kiddo.”
Lucifer dissolved into a curl of red mist.
Charlie let out a soft breath, half nerves, half excitement. “I’m really glad you’re here, Aunt,” she said, smiling tenderly and earnest. “I… I hope you like it here.”
You grinned, wicked and fond. “Oh dear, It was already entertaining the moment I walked in.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Morningstar Siblings with Alastor:
This is how it went right? 😂 The original troublemakers of heaven
A/N: Enjoy this long bastard. (The chapter, not Alastor, btw...)
You couldn’t recall the last time you’d seen Rancor. Maybe seven or eight years prior, and even then it was about a decade between visits. He’d requested a quiet, private life outside of the city and you had granted his wish. He deserved so much more but asked so little of you. Every few months, you sent him money to make sure he wasn’t struggling. He insisted you didn’t need to do it every time, but you did, and every time you sent someone in your place to cut him a check.
He cared for you, but his kind heart kept him from admitting that your presence hurt.
So when he came to the hotel looking to check it out, you were beyond ecstatic and wasted no time introducing him to everyone.
Charlie excitedly shook his hand. “It’s so nice to meet one of Temerity’s friends! I know you’re going to love it here! Why don’t we show you around before you settle in? Alastor?”
You fought the urge to roll your eyes as Alastor materialized from the shadows. You could take the high road and not get into a petty argument this time. Of course the host of the hotel would assist in guiding the tour; you couldn’t exactly argue.
Charlie led the tour, a bundle of enthusiasm the entire time as she showed Rancor the various amenities: the bar, lounge, and even the amphitheater. You could almost forget Alastor’s presence… if he wasn't looming behind you like a sentient, malevolent fart.
The four of you strolled up the aisle towards the amphitheater’s exit, Rancor and Charlie up front with you and Alastor taking up the back. Foolishly you glanced his way, only to see his blood red eyes fixed ahead, brow laxed. You’d realized the best way to gauge his feelings were through his eyes, ignoring the smile altogether, but even then it challenged you to try and figure out how he felt.
Did he really give a shit about you sleeping with Vox? You doubted it. Even with their animosity, you couldn’t understand how Alastor, with his complete and utter lack of interest in all things sexual, could possibly care. But you couldn’t let those words go: “I simply… expected better of you.”
The idea of letting him down in any way hurt more than it should. You didn’t exist to please him. You didn’t need him to be proud of your decisions.
You sighed deeper than you meant to, earning a curious glance from the Radio Demon. You shot your attention back to the two in front of you.
“It’s a good thing you came today, Rancor. The concert tomorrow is going to have the hotel pretty packed,” Charlie said with a self-satisfied chuckle. “Will we see you there?”
Rancor smiled sheepishly. “Oh, no, Miss. Crowds and loud music aren’t quite my cup of tea. No offense.”
“None taken! We’re just happy to have you here. Right, Alastor?”
Alastor cracked the wryest of smiles. “Positively ecstatic.”
Don't think he didn't catch the roll of your eyes, the way your lips pressed together. His jaw clenched.
Alastor whirled, placing himself between you and Rancor. “So, my god man! What brings you to the Hazbin Hotel?”
Rancor, Satan bless him, took it in stride. “Well, Hell has been… an interesting experience to say the least, but I’m ready for a change. If there’s a chance I can see my family again then I’ll try it. At worst this’ll be a vacation.”
He chuckled and you joined in, but Alastor studied your expressions long enough to tell what guilt would look like on your lonely face, even if it only lasted the briefest of moments.
His lip quirked with intrigue.
“We loooove a positive outlook here!” Charlie chirped. “You’ll fit right in.”
“The hotel’s gotta be the safest place in hell,” you added, “especially with such a powerful sinner working there… but enough about Niffty!”
You chortled, and Alastor’s eye twitched. “Charming as usual.”
“Alastor! You’re here?”
Radio waves soaked in annoyance rolled off Alastor and made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You glowered at him. His smile grew a hair.
No doubt the other two in the party felt the animosity. Charlie jumped in, eager to lessen the tension. “So! Rancor! How do you know Tem?”
“I supposed you could say we’re from the same town,” he answered. “Knew Merity since she was young.”
You almost smiled, then Alastor said, “Really? She's never, ever mentioned you.”
Something — anxiety, shame — stabbed at the middle of your back, dull pain spreading to your gut. “It’s because my relationships are none of your business.”
“Can I not be curious about a good friend?”
Shut up heart shut up heart shut up heart SHUT THE FUCK UP
“We both know that’s not what this is about,” you replied, voice cold as your demeanor.
“AN-Y-WAAAY!” Charlie twirled and walked off, eager to pull attention back to the tour. “Why don’t we show you the… laundry facilities!?”
After a thrilling tour of the laundry machines — all while trying and failing to ignore Alastor behind you — you privately escorted Rancor to his room. “Here’s our stop. Room 667. Neighbor of the beast.”
He laughed, and that eased some of the tension in your gut. “Do you need me to send for your things?” You asked him. “I noticed you didn't bring anything.”
He laughed awkwardly. “If you don’t mind, Merity. I didn’t expect to check in right away, or for you to be here, really.”
Tension returned, the knife of guilt twisted deeper.
Despite hiding your pain behind a smile, he quickly added, “Not that I’m not glad to see you. Surprised, s’ all.”
He tried to spare your feelings. Like always. You sighed, smile melting into something more sincere. “I’m glad to see you, too. I’ll let you get settled. The rooms are actually very lovely.”
Rancor glanced down the hall, as if expecting someone to round the corner. “I’m not by the Radio Demon, am I?”
You laughed. “He’s not as scary as he seems, don't even worry about running into him.”
“The two of you seem… oddly close, with how you speak to each other. Is that a new development?”
You scoffed, exasperated. “He just gets a kick out of messing with me and being a little bitch.”
Rancor blinked. “The Radio Demon… is a little bitch?”
“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe!” You could soliloquize all the B-words that could describe Alastor: boorish, bastard, brat… beguiling, beautiful.
Rancor’s sweet chuckle brought you back to the present. “Well, I know you won’t let him get to you.”
You couldn't tell him how wrong he was.
You nodded and tried to head off, give him his space, but he stopped you midturn with a squeeze to your shoulder. You flinched out of surprise more than anything.
“We should have lunch sometime. Let’s catch up.”
Your eyes widened, hope catching in your throat. “Of course. Whenever you'd like.”
Something flashed in his eyes you couldn't place before you two parted. Despite Rancor’s kindness— no, his unwavering compassion and grace towards you, you knew seeing you took a toll on him every time, even when over a century removed from it all.
But he wanted to see you and had asked you first? You practically skipped down the hall.
Achill ran through you, bitter and icy up your spine. Solid darkness whipped past you, sliding along the walls unnaturally. For a moment you wondered if it was your imagination.
“What a sentimental parting!”
“Mammon’s taint!” You fell flat on your ass. Alastor grinned down at you, lip twitching with contained laughter. His invisible audience on the other hand didn’t hold back their glee.
You stood, dusting off your dress, tail swishing behind you. “So we're done pretending you're not stalking me?”
His eyes darted back to your face. “Your old pal seemed like quite the interesting fellow.” Of course he ignored your question. “It's curious how you’ve never mentioned him.”
You crossed your arms, giving him nothing. That wouldn't do.
“If I recall correctly, I overheard you tell your little friend I wasn’t as scary as I appear—”
“Why don't I get you a punch card for eavesdropping at this point?”
“I was simply passing through! But to the point: you and I both know you lied to the man.”
He tsked-tsked and booped you on the nose, grin widening when you snapped at his finger with your teeth. For the briefest of moments, he wondered what it would feel like to have your teeth cleave through his flesh and ligaments, his blood streaming down your décolletage…
“Did you also hear how I called you a little bitch?” Your expression hadn’t changed, but he could hear the lilt of your smug grin in your voice.
And there went your slick mouth. While entertaining, it grew tiresome; clearly he’d been letting you off the hook for sassing him for far too long. He considered shoving a finger in your smart mouth in order to shut you up, to see if in your shock you’d really bite his finger off.
Alas, he’d put a pin in that for now.
“Well, if you insist on staying mum on the subject, perhaps I could pay your little friend a visit—”
“Stay the hell away from him.”
Finally. Your passive indifference shifted to that anger he loved to see on you, but it wasn’t simply wrath. Something he hadn’t seen in quite some time flecked it, something he’d never seen on you. Protectiveness.
His smile spread, radio interference crackling excitedly around him as he tilted his head with faux innocence. “I’m sorry,” he baited, “come again?”
You stepped closer, as if that intimidated him. “Leave him alone, Alastor. He’s a good man; he doesn’t need you messing with him.”
He laughed. “A good man? A lovely sentiment, but quite impossible. There are no good men in Hell.”
“Well he’s the exception that proves the rule. If you have even a shred— I mean the smallest little speck of humanity in your shriveled black soul—” you pointed at the center of his chest without touching him to emphasize your point, “you’ll leave him be.”
“Who is he to you?”
You looked at him, hands on your hips as you simmered with quiet indignation. “Why?”
“I'm just having a hard time believing he matters this much to you when you’ve never even brought up the old man.”
He kept poking into this open wound, knowing it bothered you and made you squirm. The man’s a sadist, and you foolishly played into his depraved little kink every time, and you’d let him prod at this wound so much he slipped right underneath your skin. He didn’t care about the answer. Not really. He only found it entertaining you fought and resisted. You needed to give him what he asked for, not what he wanted.
And not necessarily the truth.
You relaxed your posture. “Rancor is— was… my husband.”
He paused, the silence almost palpable before he spoke again. “Your husband?”
“Yep. That's the big secret. I know you're riveted.”
Again, you couldn't make out the look in his eyes. “I never pegged you,” he motioned the microphone end of his staff at you, “for the settle down type.”
You took it as a compliment.
“It’s a tale as old as time, really!” You explained, lining up the crock of shit you were about to feed him. “We got married for the tax benefits back when we were alive. I got his money, he got his beard. Classic lavender marriage, you know how it goes, haha!”
“Is that so? Well you two must've been really close— no wonder you're so defensive!”
You grimaced. Where did he get off sounding so sardonic?
He yapped away. “But the fellow looked plenty capable to me. I'm sure he can take care of himself, no need for you to be overly involved.”
“And you can pour your own drink, but it’s nice when someone does it for you.”
For whatever reason, that seemed to take him aback, giving him pause long enough for you to turn on your heel and leave him in the hall. For better or for worse, he didn’t follow you this time.
The time had come. Finally the day, the first day of what Charlie charmingly dubbed as “The Showcase of Salvation” arrived.
With multiple acts playing, this event would last until midnight. You made sure to get up extra early in preparation for the show. Many of your own employees worked as ushers, stagehands, and cashiers at the concession stands outside the venue; you spent some time with your managers to make sure everything would be smooth sailing going forward into the night.
The air hummed with excitement and anticipation, your smile undying as you flitted through the hotel and auditorium, the sea of excited people charging you up more. sinners flooded the hotel; a handful of hellborn scattered in as well. You shouldn’t have doubted Charlie, she had a solid intuition.
Well… for the most part.
You did have to go behind Charlie's back and hire Blitzø for back up security. You stuck him and his sniper rifle in the gods (it seemed rather appropriate), up so high he had the perfect vantage point in case anyone wanted to stir up shit.
You leaned back on the railing and watched him set up his gun. “Thanks again for doing this, Blitzø. I know it was rather last minute.”
“Yeah, no problem, murder tits. So can you… kindly fuck off so I can do my job in peace?”
You steamrolled him. “Can you believe the princess didn't want to hire security? I told her it’s standard precaution, but she— get this— said ‘it might be too intimidating.’ I get Alastor’s the hotel’s protector, but he’s not omnipresent… I hope.”
“Oh, yeah, it can be reeeeal fucking annoying when a bitch can't pick up in subtle clues.”
A roll of your eyes, you pushed yourself off the railing. “Alright, I get it. I can take a hint.”
“No, not really.”
“I'll leave you to your post…” You hesitated, fidgeting with your hand. “But before I do, there's something I need to tell you.”
Gun finished, he held it, barrel at the ceiling, with his free hand on his hip. “Well shit, you ain't done yapping?”
You scoffed in faux offense. “Well, excuse me for trying to apologize.”
He blinked. “Apologize?”
“Yes. Apologize.” A deep sigh prepped you for sincerity. “I owe you a big fat apology for setting your van on fire and for generally being a ‘psycho pyro slut.’ Moreso the ‘psycho pyro’ than the ‘slut’. I snapped and… well, it’s no excuse. You've really pulled through for me lately and I do appreciate it. So I'm sorry, and thank you, Blitzø.”
Those glowing yellow eyes blinked out of sync again and he fell silent for a split second. You doubted any of his clients bothered to thank him, you included. “Wow, this mushy motel must’ve sucked all the cunt out of you if you seriously think I didn't do all this shit for money.”
“Oh, come now,” you cooed, poking him lightly in his chest. “I know you have a tiny shriveled heart in there. You pity lil ol’ me and my sadgirl, crybaby backstory bullshit. Admit it~”
Blitzø palmed your face and pushed you away. “Look, you’re welcome, or whatever. You’ve actually been one of my least annoying clients, lately.”
“And not just because I pay you twice as much as the rest of them?”
“No, that's definitely the only reason.”
Chuckling, you squeezed his shoulder and pecked him on the cheek.
His sincere smile matched yours… until he opened his mouth again. “Aww, you're gonna make me throw up in my mouth.”
You lightly pushed his shoulder. “Dickhole.”
“Love you too, jizz breath.”
Smirking, you flipped him off as you headed down the stairwell.
Halfway down, the dimmed lights overhead flickered, and a familiar rush of chilly darkness whipped past you, halting you midstep. Agitated, you folded your arms, turning to find his black silhouette on the wall beside you.
“Yes, Alastor?” you asked, exasperated at the shadow. “You here to tell me you are omnipresent?”
The pause following stretched out into awkward silence. Could one be in a staring contest with a shadow? You were certainly losing, looking into the spaces between darkness where its eyes sat. It tilted its head like a curious animal might, gazed fixed on you. The irritation you held in your shoulders melted away, replaced with intrigue.
You’ve never seen Alastor’s shadow so far from him and this… independent. Granted, you never gave his shadow much thought— you’d assume it merely parroted his feelings when visible, and helped him travel around. It never occurred to you it could be… alive in some way.
Gingerly you reached towards the apparition, and it didn’t pull away. “Alastor, is this you or—”
The moment your fingers graced the shadow’s chest, blackness seeped onto your skin, spreading up your hand like blood down a wall. A silent gasp left your lips, but you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to. You expected it to feel like ice, based on how travelling through Alastor’s shadows felt, but this was warm. So so warm.
Warmth traveled up your arm, past your elbow then your shoulder. It slithered up your neck until heat found home against your cheek.
This was weird. Weird and completely out of nowhere. But that didn’t stop you from leaning into the heat, finding solidity against your cheek. Comfort. It spread to your chest, warming your heart in a way that made your eyes flutter closed.
All at once, ice, sharp and painful, shot through your bones and shredded your nerves like electricity where the shadow wrapped around you. You yelped and recoiled as it fled down the stairwell like a frightened rat.
You turned back to the wall, as if it held any answers for you.
What in the nine rings was that?
Did his shadow go AWOL? Could it do that? You’d assumed it was a part of him, acting of his accord. But the thing had cupped your cheek. Alastor would never— well he had once, but that was an extenuating circumstance, it didn’t count! He certainly wouldn’t do it again.
So then why did his shadow?
Why would it do that?
Why?
You did your best to set aside the… whatever that was from the stairs and enjoy the show.
It wasn’t easy to organize a decent variety of music across all genres that also felt harmonious, but everyone’s combined efforts paid off. Tonight was positively a medley of melodies and a treat for the ears. And while you can appreciate all types of music, you'll also admit not everything was to your taste.
So during one band’s set, you hung out at the bar with Angel, Husk, and Cherri, shooting the shit, laughing at a crude joke Angel made. Husk fixed you a second Tom Collins. Cherri scrolled through her social media, glancing from her phone to you, snickering.
You sipped your drink. “What's funny, Hun?”
She turned her phone screen to you. “Tell me this ain't you.”
You peered at the story she showed you. Big bold text on the VoxNews site read: Purple Fatass Nobody Caught Doing the Walk of Shame from V Tower. Underneath, a blurry image of you exiting said Tower.
You skimmed the article briefly. “Of cooourse, Katie wrote that— That bitch!”
“What?” Angel asked, craning his neck to look at Cherri’s phone.
“She called my club tacky and said that my plays are 'shallow and pedantic.’ Shallow I’ll concede to, but tacky and pedantic?” You huffed and grumbled, “I'll make her ass tacky and pedantic.”
“…what?”
A deep sigh and a count to four later and you were already over it. “Whatever. There's no bad press after all. Anyway, Cherri, I wish you were at the hotel that day. I took Niffty and these two lovebirds out to brunch.”
She laughed, pocketing her phone and picking up her beer. “Brunch? What are you, an elderly lesbian?”
“Mock all you want, but you're the one who missed a free meal.”
“I'm always telling her to check into the hotel,” Angel said. “She's here enough.”
“There’s no rush. Cheeri wants to sow her wild oats and all that.”
Cheeri rolled her eye. ”Oh god, you really are an old lady…”
You shot her a look. Your shared laughter died in the wake of Charlie introducing the next talent to the stage: Moxxie.
Interest piqued, you swiveled in your bar chair to watch his performance on one of the monitors set outside of the amphitheater. Moxxie, with his guitar, pulled up his stool to sit on and cleared his throat.
“This song goes out to my beautiful wife, Millie…”
He strummed his guitar, gentle and light, a song you heard in bits and places during rehearsals. As he said, the song was shamelessly all about his love for his wife.
In his charmingly offbeat voice, he sang of his adoration for her, he sang of the little things: Her laughter. Her strength. How after all this time he still got butterflies when he looked at her. He sang of how his love inspired him to take action— how she found him in a dark place, and loving and being loved helped him heal, grow, and want to be better for him and for her. How it was an honor for him to love her, that he’d kill and die for her.
Raw sincerity coated in every sung line; love seeped into every word, palpable and thick, overly saccharine and pure. And through the magic of music that flooded your heart and soul, for a crystal clear moment, you understood Love.
As soon as the feeling left you, yearning swiftly replaced it. Heavy, painful yearning. Ugly, nasty, rotten yearning that crawled into your chest nearly a hundred years ago and hadn’t left you for even a day. Sometimes quiet, sometimes screeching, its very presence deafened you. The infection spread to every part of your body; a chronic illness you ignored, treating symptoms but never the source.
This song crested over the dam you constructed to protect yourself and destroyed everything you built in a single moment.
You drowned.
“Fuck!”
“You alright there, girlie?”
Cherri’s voice broke you out of your stupor. You blinked your burning eyes, relieved to find no tears were there yet. Your friends stared at you, worry etched on their faces and you realized with horror you had no idea what they saw on yours when your smile faded away.
Fuck…
You forced another smile and messily downed the rest of your drink, droplets of gin splattering on your top. “Right as rain, darlings! I’m—” Your voice skewed in your throat, a golf ball sized lump blocking the words from getting out. “Excuse me…”
You hopped off the stool, not bothering to look back as you rushed to the nearest exit. The look on their faces, more concern than you’ve ever received all at once, would be far too much.
You found safety outside of the venue, music and cheering faded and distant through the walls. Fishing out a cigarette and a lighter, you placed the cig in your lips, the lighter slipping from your shaky hands, landing in a pile of liquor and other unsavory fluids.
A deep, ugly groan left your throat as you slumped against the wall. Chest tight, your hands ran slowly down your face as you steadied your breathing. You blinked back tears. Eyes peaked between your fingers flitted everywhere in a losing effort to focus on anything not the longing in your soul.
“Fuck me…”
”Well, if you’re offering…”
Your shoulders jumped and you looked at the owner of the voice besides you. A familiar hellhound looking sinner leaned on the wall, a lighter in his large hand he flicked to life. “Need a light, spitfire?”
Cooling your expression, you leaned in and lit the cig in your mouth before drawing back with a deep inhale, the act giving you time to pull his name from your memory banks. “Alaric! Long time no see, darling. You came for the concert?”
He chuckled and pocketed the lighter. “I figured since my band didn’t make the cut during tryouts, I could at least see what beat us out.”
“You play an instrument?”
“Saxophone.”
“Very sexy.” You blew out a smoke ring. “I'm sure your band being overlooked was a gross oversight on my part. You should play it for me sometime… Perhaps after the concert tonight?”
“I didn’t bring it.”
Oh, sweet summer child…
You quirked a brow and waited for him to get it.
“Oh… Oh!”
You chuckled and snapped your fingers, summoning your hotel room key and handing it to him. “I’ll be in my room by midnight.”
He took it with a wolfish grin. “I’ll be there with bells on.”
The rest of the concert was beyond stellar. Fizzarolli sang right after Moxxie and he was the highlight of the night, his performance bringing down the house and infecting everyone with raucous energy.
After him, the audience slowly thinned out but more people stayed than left. The few stragglers who stayed behind after the concert wanted to check in, which Charlie and Vaggi were more than happy to do. Husk, Cherri, and Angel hung out at the bar, and Niffty upstaged the clean up crew you'd hired.
With everyone preoccupied and your job done, you managed to slip away, meeting up with Alaric in your room.
He couldn't have appeared at a more opportune time. You needed a distraction in the form of a warm body. You needed someone to overwhelm your senses until you couldn't think about how much you hurt. And it worked.
But only for a little bit.
Between falling asleep on his chest and waking up alone, you felt the utmost disappointment, heavy in the core of your being.
You stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out how you could possibly feel worse than before you rode St. George into the night with Alaric. You felt… gross? You haven't felt gross after sex in decades. And it wasn't Alaric.
It was you.
You rolled onto your stomach and screamed into your pillow, and for good measure you screamed again. Lifting your head, you groaned.
Something white caught your attention in the corner of your eye— a piece of paper folded in half on the pillow beside you. Frowning, you grabbed and unfolded it to find a note, a handwritten note from Alaric: Had to run. Let’s do this again.
You smiled small, a puff of amusement through your nose. Alaric was the sincerest bootycalls you’ve ever had, you’d give him that.
You sat up, and your stomach growled with hunger. Blinking sleep out of your eyes, you considered the benefits of killing one or two birds with a stone.
Sinners overran the hotel in the ones; perhaps six or even seven new bodies took up space in the lobby. Alastor watched Charlie scurry around and greet them from his position on the atrium balcony. Behind him, his shadow crawled along the wall, finally reined in from its vexing wanderlust.
It sought you out yet again for whatever reason. Before, it provided a way to keep tabs on you, checking on you in small doses, but now he couldn’t trust it to behave around you.
How irritating.
And you were all too friendly with the damned thing. He unfortunately could feel the sensations through his shadow, felt the warmth of your touch over his heart, your cheek in his hand, much like the night he spied you laying waste to the man who had taken your life. He hated how your cheek fit so well in his palm. He hated how warm you felt, how soft, how… lovely.
All of it was utterly revolting.
This time, he didn't need his shadow to spot you making your way through the lobby, that Rancor fellow in tow as you happily said hello to Charlie and the new hotel residents before heading to the door. You glanced back at Rancor, then did a comical double take when you noticed Alastor lurking from the second story. Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head.
Alastor waved before he lost your attention, waggling his fingers at you with a shit eating smirk. To his surprise you smiled back… then promptly flashed him the V sign with the back of your hand facing him.
How lovely. Whether you knew he knew what the two finger salute meant or not was up in the air.
Alastor chuckled soft and low in the back of his throat. Only he could make you—this woman full of class, wit, and charm—flip him off like a spoiled teenager throwing a fit after not getting her way. Only he could make you crack like that.
He… enjoyed that about you. He enjoyed having access to you and knowledge about you no one else in Hell possessed.
At least before this “ex-husband” of yours sauntered in out of the blue.
Speaking of the man, he’d caught you making such a rude gesture. Rancor gasped with your name on his lips, like a parent more applied than angry. And just like that your attention left him, laughing as the two of you left through the door.
Your lack of attention on Alastor bothered him more than he’d ever admit. He’d meant for this game to draw you closer to the permanent destruction of your mask. Perhaps unwisely, he hadn’t considered the possibility of you pulling away from him so much he had a better view of the back of your head more often than not these days.
He couldn’t make that mistake again.
Fortunately, he already devised a plan to fix that. Your ex could be of use to him.
Hello! Are you a radiopple fan? If so, you might be interested in reading this search it in google or something. Unfortunately I won't be able to share the site that I read this with cuz it's illegal... psst (this dj is really damn good)
"Alastor still cares for Vox!!!" BRO WHAT?? The way he said, "fucking creep" with so much disdain, and pure HATRED is very telling. 😭 TF?? Get this fucking WHITE MAN away from him!! HE HATES HIM, and for GOOD fucking REASON!
I AM NOT shipping this beautiful black man with his fuckahh racist piece of shit white man, known as fucking VOX... fuckass Vincent, I ain't going NOWHERE with a Vincent, "Hey want a drink??" NO VINCENT. 😑😫
Summary: You and Alastor will strike that deal that will benefit you both; knives like hearts hidden to stab in the back. But which one will betray better?
Notes: This chapter takes place during pilot and then cuts to s1ep5. Inspired by this post by @jellyfishxxi
CW: None in this part
Word Count: 1.6K
Also on my Ao3.
PROLOGUE
The castle’s highest balcony felt too lonely. You stood there now, arms folded loosely, watching the princess fuss with her clipboard and the bright, hopeful gleam in her eyes.
“Charlie,” you called softly.
She turned, immediately grinning. “Auntie!” She practically bounced over. “Did you sleep well? I made raspberry tea—”
“Sweetheart.” You placed a hand on her shoulder, steady but gentle. “I want you to reconsider this whole… hotel idea.”
Her smile faltered only a fraction. “Aunt, we’ve talked about this.”
“Yes, we have.” You stepped closer, brushing a stray blond curl behind her. “And I admire your dream. I admire you. I always have.” Your voice softened, almost pleading. “But you’ve been loved and protected inside this castle all your life. Stepping outside like this—Hell isn’t a stroll through the park.”
“I know.”
“You’re too trusting,” you said, though not unkindly. “And selfless. And painfully hopeful. That’s exactly why I’m worried.”
Charlie laughed lightly. “Aunt… I believe redemption is possible. I have to try.” She lifted her chin with that determined, slightly shaky confidence she inherited from her father. “If I never step outside, how will anyone else ever believe they can change?”
You sighed.
“Maybe...” you murmured, “I should come with you.”
Charlie froze. “W–what? No no no— absolutely not. Aunt, you’d level the entire street if someone so much as breathed wrong near me.”
“That is a very dramatic exaggeration.”
Charlie gave you a look.
“…Fine. I’d level half.”
Charlie laughed again, leaning her forehead against your shoulder in a brief, affectionate nudge. “I appreciate it. Really. But this is something I need to try on my own.” She pulled back, expression earnest. “And if anything happens that I can’t handle, I’ll call you immediately. Promise.”
"What did Lucifer say?"
"I did tell him but...I don't know if he listened." Charlie fake laughs.
You exhaled slowly. Your brother can be absent minded but since Lilith left...
“Alright. I’ll allow it.” Though worry coiled tight in your gut. “But remember your promise.”
Charlie lit up so brightly you almost had to squint. “I will! Thank you, Auntie!”
She hugged you — tight and warm, like she always did.
*
Moments later, the ornate double doors opened without a sound. Rosie entered as though she floated rather than walked — parasol twirling lightly.
She curtsied playfully. “Well, well! What does the Duchess of Hell need from little old me?”
You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the faint curve of your lips.
You motioned for her to follow you into the sunlit sitting room. A tea set already waited on low crystal tables — gold cups, steaming floral blends, pastries Charlie had baked earlier for fun.
Rosie took a seat, crossing her legs gracefully, watching you with perceptive eyes. “You look...worried.”
“I am,” you admitted, sitting opposite her. The words felt heavy, dragged from your chest. “Charlie’s determined to start her hotel. And while I respect her conviction…I don’t want her wandering into danger alone.”
Rosie stirred her tea with unnecessary flourish. “And what would you like me to do, hmm?”
You hesitated.
“I need someone trustworthy to watch over her. Not a babysitter. Never that.” Your voice softened. “Just someone who can alert us if something bad happens, you know. Like a failsafe.”
She sipped her tea, humming thoughtfully. Then her smile stretched slow and sure. “Well… I do have someone in mind.”
You straightened, sensing the shift in her tone. “Who?”
“The Radio Demon,” she said lightly, as if she were discussing weather. “
“Alastor?” you repeated, incredulous. “The Alastor? Whom you've had cooped for what...7 years?”
She nodded, unbothered. “Mhm.”
“Rosie...did you not watch him butcher half the West District before his disappearance? Is he really the right choice…?”
Rosie just smiled — that eerie, knowing smile she only wore when she was absolutely, unshakably certain. “Oh, he’s perfect.”
You narrowed your eyes. "I will trust you, then."
______________________
Alastor stepped through the gilded doors of the brand-new hotel with a spring in his step. Across the lobby, Charlie and her ever-guarded companion were deep in discussion.
“We don't know that! Look, I know he's bad, and I know he probably doesn't wanna change, but the whole point of this is to give people a chance!”
He chuckled softly to himself, tuning out the rest. Ah, yes. Always nice to hear one’s reputation precede them.
It was then his eyes wandered, drawn to the grand wall of portraits that lined the walls. Oh, the royal family. He’d seen their likenesses before, of course. But never quite this closely.
The first portrait stopped him.
The first painting was regal: the King and Queen of Hell, standing side by side, the young princess seated gracefully between them. And in the center, between the monarchs — stood a woman he recognized only from whispers.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing in intrigue. The artist had captured you beautifully — the calm in your stance, the quiet danger in your gaze.
How curious…
He moved to the next.
This one was different — a candid moment, shockingly mortal in its simplicity. You and Lucifer mid-laughter, his hand on your shoulder, cheeks squished together like kittens. The two of you looked less like partners of damnation and more like mischievous siblings caught sharing an inside joke.
How quaint. How impossibly human.
He stepped closer to the third portrait…smaller, more intimate.
Charlie as an infant tucked in your arms. Her little hands reached for your hair while you gazed down with unmistakable tenderness. The little one giggled up at you, and for once, the artist hadn’t needed to exaggerate your warmth. You were looking down at her like she was the most precious thing in all creation.
But his mind turned over the contrast. Because the stories whispered through Hell about you were anything but tender.
They said you and the Queen together had built Hell — You, the strategist; Lilith, the diplomat. It was you who designed the system of Overlords, to empower the strongest of sinners.
And somewhere within that structure lay your inner circle — a council whispered about but never confirmed. Only a handful of Overlords were said to have access to it: Carmilla Carmine, Zestial and of course, Rosie, your ever-smiling confidante.
That alone was enough to make the rest of Hell tread carefully around your name.
They said you and Lucifer together had created the Goetia, the noble demon houses that governed the upper echelons of Hell.
But the King had withdrawn. The Queen had vanished.
Some whispered that you were now the de facto ruler of Hell.
He could almost swear the painted version of you was watching him — smile sharpening ever so slightly, eyes glinting as though amused by his curiosity. He found the contrast exquisite.
________________________
The study was quieter than usual — just the soft scratch of your pen and the steady glow of hellfire lamps lining the dark oak shelves. Papers lay in careful piles across your desk, the calm order you wrapped around yourself like armor.
“HOLY SHIT!” The doors slammed open so hard the hinges cried.
You didn’t even jump. You simply looked up… and smiled.
Lucifer practically skidded inside, blond hair sticking in eleven different directions like he’d flown straight through a tornado.
“Charlie contacted me!” he blurted, chest heaving with excitement. “She called me! First!”
It had been too long since he’d visited in this mood. Your smile deepened, warmth spreading gently through your chest. “Oh, Lu… that’s wonderful.”
You tilted your head. “What was it about?”
“She invited me,” he said, voice cracking adorably. “To her hotel! She asked me to come over!”
He beamed like a child. Then suddenly froze. “Oh shit— wait— I totally barged in like a maniac— I’m so sorry—I was just… excited. And I missed you.”
You rolled your eyes playfully but your heart softened. “It’s fine. Truly.”
Lucifer hopped up onto the edge of your desk, kicking his legs. “So, how’s everything going here? Any apocalyptic crises I should know about?”
You shrugged. “Just another regular day in Hell.”
“Mm-hmm.” His eyes narrowed theatrically. “And your love life?”
You groaned, head falling back. “Lucifer.”
“What?” he sing-songed. “I’m just asking—”
“You should stop nagging me about it,” you cut in, rubbing your temples. “Not everyone finds… that kind of love. Like you did.” Your gaze drifted to the window, subtle melancholy shifting in your eyes. “True love is something only a few people get,” you murmured. “And that’s okay.”
Lucifer winced. “Hey… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to rub it in. It’s just—It’s not going to be same every time as Eve—”
“I don’t want to find love,” you interrupted sharply, before the old wound could breathe. “And I’m happy as I am. Truly.”
He blinked, caught between worry and guilt. “Right. Yes. Absolutely. Of course you are! Totally happy. Very fulfilled. Love is stupid! Who needs it?” He laughed nervously, fiddling with the paperweight on your desk.
Then suddenly he exclaimed, eyes wide. “YOU KNOW WHAT. Come with me!”
You stared. “Come with you where?”
“To the hotel!” he blurted. “Charlie will LOVE it! Family reunion! Fun! Together time! Yes?”
You shook your head instantly. “No. Absolutely not. Charlie didn’t call me, she called you. I’m not showing up like an uninvited guest. That’s rude.”
Lucifer pouted. “Come onnn,” he whined dramatically, sliding off the desk and grabbing your shoulders.
Before you could protest, he yanked you into a squishy hug — your cheek smashed against his. “PLEEEEEASE,” he whined, shaking you gently. “PLEEEEEASE come with me. It’ll be the BEST reunion everrrr~”
“Lucifer— stohp—”
“PLEEEEASE.”
You sighed. “You’re impossible.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
He wiggled his shoulders. “Is that a yes?”
You groaned, defeated. “…Fine.”
And before you could protest further, he was already teleporting you both away. You allowed it.
Because despite everything… you’d missed moments like this.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lemme know if you wanna be tagged! This fic will update every Monday!
The Last Quiet Breath of a Star (Alastor x Reader)
His love is patient, like rot. It waits, it spreads, it wins. When a star dies, what comes next?
Pairing: F!Reader x Human!Alastor
Summary/Warning: Angst with a dash of romance | Character Death
A/N: I've been so absolutely delighted by all the love my works have been getting on Tumblr. Here you go, you beautiful charming psychopaths: some sad poetic prose. I wasn't planning on releasing this one in my one-shot collection this soon, but you've earned it and I'm a slut for validation. - Read on AO3
He sits on the edge of your bed like a beautiful nightmare. It is rather rude that God cursed you with seeing the future and blessed him with the face of an angel while he guts the men of this city.
That Last Quiet Breath of a Star
He is pretty, prettier than men should be. When he walks into the room, everyone has eyes on him. You sink back into the shadows. It is enough to watch him enchant the bar.
It is fine from a distance because it has to be.
You know what happens to him.
You have seen it so many times that you hate that you cry when those dreams come.
The other dreams are worse… the things he does. The fun he has.
That's why you are smart enough to stay away. He is the killer haunting this city and one day, he gets shot right between the eyes in that pretty little face.
He'll be gone soon.
Can he feel it?
You can.
──────────────────── · · · · ✦
Knowing the future is rotten. People think they want it but they don't. You see the car crash that killed your father, the long years of drink with your mother and now, finally, she emerges from it in this season.
It's a mixed bag. You'd rather not know the ending to things. It's become something you refuse to partake in. When a band is on, you leave with twenty minutes still left. You're out of the door when things start to shut down.
The worst thing is that there are no surprises.
People can survive a lot when they have hope, but knowing takes away that sense of possibility.
You are a star who has seen that there can be an end to the glowing bright light.m. This gorgeous whiplash existence is but a dot in the expanse of the vast night sky.
Can you dream if you know there is nothing but inevitable oblivion?
When you lay your head down, you tell God to take back this curse.
He says nothing.
No, instead, he tilts your head to the side and forces you to watch what will come.
Such violent ends to some stars.
You wake with a pillow wet from tears.
──────────────────── · · · · ✦
You fall in love with Alastor like everyone does: through his radio show.
It is only when he shows up in your dreams, blood spattered shirt and manic eyes, that you start to realize who he is.
How rotten that you still find him handsome, knowing what he's done.
You wash the dishes, kiss your mother, and let her know that you'll be back soon.
Walks help. The constant movement is the only thing that seems to keep the future at bay. Fate finds it hard to grab a moving target so you move and move until you walk holes into your shoes, until you can look up at the night sky and ask the stars if they're scared about what is going to happen next.
──────────────────── · · · · ✦
It's not as if you aren't pretty or funny or smart. You have suitors who stop by the house. (You even like the women who hang in the windows in Storyville, waving to passing potential clients, but this you keep to yourself. God has seen fit to give you one curse already and he seems to be a rather sadistic deity.)
You like people and appreciate their beauty.
But it's better to observe.
If you make a friend, know a lover…you may see how it ends for them.
BANG!
Right between the eyes.
You smoke a cigarette and watch the water until the reflection of the steamboat lights blur into nonsense.
Nights in the city are wonderful. Your mother would riot if she knew you were out here but you're in no danger: you'd know if you were going to die. You would have see it happen before taking the walk.
Boring.
Tomorrow, a streetcar accident will occur and a childhood friend will get married on the other side of the town.
You are tired of seeing it all.
Another cigarette, another walk back, nice and slow to your house.
It's too early for anyone to be out and too late for anyone to be coming back. The perfect witching hour walk if you know exactly where to step and you always do.
──────────────────── · · · · ✦
An ex-boyfriend stops you in the speakeasy. An amazing feat tonight because it's a costume party. Everyone and their lover is masked. He asks about your mother and then steers the conversation into patronizing you.
"You still doing those late walks? That ain't safe."
Maybe people have started talking. You lurk a little too often alone, you smoke too much for a woman, you're a little too faraway in thought.
"I'm fine."
He walks out with you to the balcony. You lean back your head and stare at the stars.
"You know there's a killer walking around," your ex says, as if you don't read the papers. As if you don't know the culprit is playing a mean piano number inside as you both speak outside. He's always here. Maybe that's why you come, to stare at his beauty on the periphery, like a scientist mourning a species they know will go extinct.
Will they preserve his bones? Dissect him to see if they can find the rot inside him?
"The Butcher doesn't kill women," you tell him, already bored of this conversation.
Your boyfriend takes a drag of his cigarette and scowls. "How do you know?"
You have seen the way he kills. Who he targets. Men who beat their wives and who spill wine on him because they find it amusing. You almost thought he was noble, were almost able to justify your heart beating faster until you saw the other reasons he killed. For spite, for petty revenge, for a lark.
Always someone bad but the reason wasn't noble every time.
"Just a feeling," you tell him.
He finishes his cigarette and leaves you to the stars. "You are an odd bird," he tells you as he walks back inside. The music is loud until the door swings open. You lean against the railing and stare at the stars, trying to see if you can see their deaths too.
"Gorgeous night out," a voice says.
You are too lost to your staring. "Simply lovely." It's a flat automatic response. Good girls in society are always ready with polite responses.
Good girls are not meant to see death in the stars.
"What are you thinking about on this lovely evening?"
You light another cigarette and stare at the closest twinkling star. "How do you think it feels for a star to die?"
Part of you wonders why you ask it but you're so flat. Go to bed, see the future. Wake up and watch it happen. There is no mystery. It makes you want to scream.
"I don't know," your mysterious companion answers sincerely. A punch of amusement. You're thankful he's likely to be drunk as he joins you at the railing. Nobody else outside.
"They can't gasp for air," you muse. "That seems sad, right?" It's something you've seen frequently in your mind. People get killed all the time in the city. Always a wet, gasping breath before it cuts to black. Before the star blinks out.
He doesn't reply.
You stub out your cigarette. "Well, have a good night." You don't bother looking back. Your ex is right and you're an odd bird. Folks know.
They can't see the future.
You hate them for that.
──────────────────── · · · · ✦
Two cigarettes already on this night walk. You walk home and don't have to wonder what's for dinner. In your eye, you see it. Mom made chicken and dumplings because she's a peach.
You turn onto your street.
Someone is just leaving from in front of your house. They had been standing on the worn path outside the gate.
You watch them disappear, a shadow in the night.
The cigarette drops from your mouth.
Because you hadn't seen any of that.
──────────────────── · · · · ✦
"Fix me," you tell the doctor.
He sighs. "For the last time, if you keep telling people you can see the future, I have to send you to the sanatorium." He writes you a prescription for tranquilizers instead.
You bunch up the doctor's note and toss it in the nearest trash can.
Another cigarette and a walk.
The stars watch from above.
They ask, Who do you think you're fooling?
──────────────────── · · · · ✦
You usually see him hunt once a week. He's productive, you'll give him that. But this week is strangely quiet. You only see flashes of his walk to work.
There are other visions. The cashier at the grocery store is pregnant but doesn't know it yet. Someone down the street is sick.
The beginning of stars and the end of stars.
Rinse and repeat.
You find a bench at night and smoke. One tear down your cheek because it cuts through the numbness for a blissful moment.
The world has to be better. It has to have mystery. You can't just be a star that fades into nothing with no air to gasp.
When you close your eyes, you can see him dying.
You know he is bad. Worse than the worst of them, but you like him. Maybe that makes you just as bad.
If you tell him, will it happen?
You've never tried to stop the future before.
The stars above watch you post the letter. No return address, the plainest stamp, nothing but plain paper and a simple envelope.
Alastor,
I know what you are. You will be shot near your cabin if you keep going like this.
──────────────────── · · · · ✦
Such a photogenic man. He's in the newspaper again. It's Christmas and the chilled air is foggy with your warm breath. How long until it happens? Months? It's summer or warm enough when it happens in your dreams.
You walk to the end of the street and feel the cold sink into the marrow of your bones. Such a cutting chill when there's so much water in the air. Your coat makes you rethink your walk.
Instead, you sidle into a well-know gin joint. There's barely anyone at this time of night. Only the last of the last but you'd like a drink.
The bartender says nothing about you being an unattended lady and you smoke your cigarette over a glass of whiskey.
When you leave to head back home, your lamp is on in your room. Odd because you left it off and your mother is at her sister's place.
You pause in the quiet of the hallway.
No images come to mind.
But you are aware of a timeline gone askew.
You light a cigarette because you'd like to have one last vice before death.
He sits on the edge of your bed like a beautiful nightmare. It is rather rude that God cursed you with seeing the future and blessed him with the face of an angel while he guts the men of this city.
You sit in the chair across him by your desk.
"Hello," you say and glance down at the bed, where a knife lays flat against the bedspread. "Hm. Smaller than you usually bring, isn't it?"
He stares at you.
You stare back, smoke drifting up.
Two stars in a standoff.
"When do I die?" he asks.
"I don't know the exact date. I only know that it'll be warm out, so not now. You'll still be relatively young so maybe next year or the few years after."
He watches you closely. Let him. You have nothing to hide.
"And you've seen what I've done?" he asks. At no point has he even bothered picking up the knife or waving it around menacingly. You're disappointed that he isn't giving you the same treatment as the others. A little razzle dazzle with the bloodshed would be nice. One final show before he snuffs your starlight out.
"Yes," you tell him. "I have."
"All of them?"
You shrug. "I stopped counting after twenty. Does it matter?"
What is one star death to twenty? It is all the same blinking out of existence and you are all the same rotten girl for loving him.
"Do you want one?" you ask as you light another from your case. The final meal on death row will be nicotine.
He shakes his head.
"Why haven't you told anyone?" he asks.
You shrug. "Because you're too pretty and I like you even though I know I shouldn't." You flick ash into the nearby ashtray. "Would you like to kill me now?"
He lifts one eyebrow. "You want me to kill you?"
"Not necessarily. It just seems like that's what will happen, you know given the giant knife on the bed and all."
And you make sure to meet his gaze because at least you have this: he has managed to surprise you. The pleased laughter wants to bubble out of you.
He sighs. "It's no fun if you aren't a screaming man." He stands and he's so tall looking down at you, using the blunt side of the knife to tilt your chin up to him. "Will you be quiet?"
"Yes. You don't get caught on purpose, I'll remind you. Nobody tells."
He yanks your nearby window open. "Change your locks. They're too easy to break." He sits on the ledge for a moment. "You think I'm pretty?"
"Unfortunately," you reply and it's the truth because his handsome face is staring at you without the mask he wears for others. Somehow you still like it. Even without the smile, without the performance.
And he falls back to disappear into the night. You don't even hear him land. Your house is elevated so the window will be much higher than a first story should be.
That's how a shadow sinks back into the night, you suppose.
──────────────────── · · · · ✦
You don't look at him at parties. You turn away at the bar. Instead, you talk to your ex-boyfriend or the bartender.
There may be eyes on you but if there was a portal into his future, it's closed now.
You stop taking walks at the witching hour. Your mother is growing frailer. You want to stay closer to home.
He will be dead soon.
You only cry when you're sure that your mother is asleep.
Whether it's for him or you, who can tell?
──────────────────── · · · · ✦
A star cannot help that it's a star.
Maybe he was born this way.
Maybe you were born this way.
But when your window slides open on a balmy night, your mother away at her sister's place again, you know that it's him.
Who else moves like a cat in the night?
"Do you see me anymore?" he asks, sitting on the edge of your bed.
"No," you tell him in the loud quiet. A Louisiana night with cicadas and frogs as the orchestral background music. As rich and deep as your mother's roux. "I don't see you anymore at all."
No knife in the moonlight, but a soft glint coming off the necklace around his neck. His shirt is buttoned lower than usual. What a distracting homicidal maniac.
"I could kill you," he says, as if reminding himself.
"Yes," you reply. "You can."
He stares down at you or you think he is because even with a sliver of moonlight, his sharp face has hidden him with shadows at this angle.
"Why aren't you upset?" he asks.
"That you can kill me?"
"That I do kill. Frequently."
"I already told you."
He looks to the side of the room with a tiny scoff. You wonder if he even knew what he was doing before he climbed into your room.
"I'm tired," you tell him. "If you stay, be quiet." You roll over to go to bed because if he hasn't stabbed you yet, he probably won't now.
He exhales.
"Will you be upset when I die?"
You still and in the dark, the outline of your door is barely visible. A reminder that paths are full of choices.
"Yes," you tell him without turning back. "That's why I try not to look at you."
"This isn't the end, you know."
"What do you mean?" you ask because he has your attention now. You turn back and sit up on your forearm.
"There's an after-life."
You haven't seen one if there is.
"If you say so," you tell him.
"You've never seen that?"
"No, but it doesn't mean that it doesn't exist. Just that it can't be seen or doesn't want to be seen, at least. Still, I don't believe in it."
"You're funny," he says suddenly.
"Thank you. It's because God hates me."
He laughs but the sound strikes you as a bit hollow. He's tired.
Not long now.
"I'll find you," he says.
"Find me when?"
He doesn't answer, not really. Just presses his cheek against your forehead for a blissful second.
"You'll know."
And the window is open and he is gone and you know what happens next.
The dream comes true.
──────────────────── · · · · ✦
Love is fickle. You cry and you live.
The stars still go on above and you must do the same.
But sometimes you wonder if he gasped for breath or if he just faded. A star who became a shadow, what he was always meant to be.
What was it? you ask his grave whenever you remember to visit.
And then you no longer go because the world is fast and you know he's better dead in the ground even if you still remember how pretty he was.
──────────────────── · · · · ✦
Your descent into hell is lackluster. The paperwork gets lost for years. You arrive and try your best. Here, you can't tell the future.
You get labeled with the crime of dark arts. Is that what they call seeing the future despite never asking for the ability?
Well, you'll smoke. It wasnt the cigarettes that killed you. It was a car accident. You went just like your dad did. Thankfully, this time your mother was gone so she didn't have to drown her sorrows in vodka.
You work at an antique shop because they like that you grew up around the stuff. You spent a lot of time in purgatory due to that paperwork error.
The other woman who works the shop asks if you've ever been love. She's oddly sentimental for a demon, but you start to realize there isn't much different with this lot versus the people you left up top.
"I have," you tell her because you aren't sure what else to call it. Something like love if you squint just right. A mad fever dream that perhaps you made up because he never gave you anything so you have nothing to prove any of it.
She says she misses her wife and you ask about her until the shift is over. As she talks, it's as if she hangs her wife's star in the sky once more for you to see.
──────────────────── · · · · ✦
You have been in Hell for two years. There's a young man, a little Dalmatian type with a tendency to knock over glass items with his tail. He flicks through the TV hanging in the corner of the shop.
"Wish that radio guy was still around," he laments. "There's nothing to watch on VoxNetwork and they have 300 channels."
And you're at work, you want to remind him but who are you to critique a fellow sinner?
You've heard about a radio man but by the time you got down here, it was off the air.
Sometimes you think about looking up the stories about their radio man here in Hell, but you're worried about what happens if it isn't him.
You light up a cigarette outside and stare up at this new sky you've had to become accustomed to. You miss the old stars.
Your coworker leaves after your smoke break. A tiny bit of acid rain starts to fall. It's nearly closing when someone enters. Your back is turned to polish a set of new bookends.
"Lovely weather outside," your guest says.
When you turn, he's facing the front, picking up a brass knickknack from a box of oddities.
"You're awfully optimistic about acidic rain," you tell him. "Can I help you with anything?"
He lifts the object higher and you can see it now: a metal star.
"Yes, I have a few questions." He says and keeps the star in his hand as he moves around the shop. His collar was up against the rain so it's hard to see him.
"Feel free to ask," you tell him and go back to polishing.
"I was wondering if you've ever thought about what it feels like for a star to die?"
Your hands freeze.
He grows closer. "I was wondering how you ended up dying and why it took you so long?"
You lift your head but you cannot make yourself turn.
"I was wondering if you cried when I died?"
He is right behind you now.
And when you turn, he looks different. Far different than what you remember. He finally is as scary as he should have been to you the first time but you cannot help the smile on your face.
Has he ever looked prettier?
"I cried," you tell him.
"A waste of good tears, I imagine."
"I never had much of a choice in that."
He glances at the sign on the front door. "I believe it's closing time. Would you like to go for a drink? I know the nicest little jazz bar around the corner. It'll remind you of home."
He only laughs a little when you cry all the way there.
It's your last shift at the antique shop.
And you have to tell Heaven that you'll never make it up there because you're as rotten as they come.
When a star dies, it becomes something else entirely.
Me: in my room, drinking a beer, nodding at the screen like "yes an excellent reason to stay up late"
Longest chapter I've written so far :) Hope you guys like it!
The portal split the air in Hell once more.
Blue light burst onto the pavement outside the hotel while Y/N stepped through. The scent of Heaven’s garden evaporated from her cloak instantly, replaced by sulfur, smoke, and cheap booze.
She took a step into the place-
and stopped.
A ripple of old familiarity struck her square in the chest.
Someone was standing in the lobby. Clean, thin, dressed in white, with perfect golden hair.
Lucifer…
He stared at her for a moment, blinking as through afraid she might vanish again. She stared right back.
“… You’re shorter than I remembered,” she said quietly.
His jaw dropped. “HEY-! RUDE!”
Then he burst into laughter, bounding toward her with a sort of chaotic, kingly clumsiness that only he had.
“Well I’ll be damned!” Lucifer cried, sweeping her into a tight hug. “Look at you! Last time I saw you, you didn’t have that-” he waved vaguely at her crown “-glowy botanical death tiara thing. Gives me some memories.”
Y/N huffed a soft laugh “I think lilies look good on me.”
“You always did have a flair for drama,” he said, pulling back to look her over, eyes gleaming. “Shit, it’s really you. I didn’t expect you to really come here.”
“It’s really me,” she murmured.
For a moment, the noise faded, and they stood as they once had, two beings who once navigated the world together.
But the moment broke with a crash inside the hotel.
Husk shouted something indecipherable. Angel yelled something obscene in response. A glass shattered.
Lucifer sighed. “… yeah… I arrived a while ago; it’s chaos in there.”
Y/N’s mouth twitched. “You wanted me to check on Charlie. I did.”
“And…?” he asked cautiously.
Y/N gave him a slow look. “Well… I just found out, thanks to her, that exterminator angels come down here yearly to kill sinners… Why the fuck didn’t you tell me!?”
Lucifer winced, shoulders lifting in a guilty flinch.
“Okay – okay, look,” he said, hands raised defensively, “before you yell at me- which, to be fair, I absolutely deserve-”
“Lucifer.”
He shut up instantly. She stepped closer. “You knew Heaven was culling damned souls without my hand, nor my sanction. Without even a warning.”
Lucifer grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was going to tell you… but… since she left, I’ve been… distracted.”
Y/N’s expression softened, and she looked away.
“Right…” she murmured. “Lilith.”
What was she supposed to say? Oh yeah, I saw her a moment ago, she’s there chilling in Heaven, ignoring you and Charlie…
He didn’t know she had chosen Heaven over both of them. For once, Y/N had no words. Her throat closed before any could form.
Lucifer, misreading the silence, sighed. “I know. I know it’s a mess. I didn’t mean to dump it all on you. But I’m glad Charlie told you.”
Y/N drew in a breath, steadying the knot inside her chest. “Let’s go inside,” she said. “Before we both start brooding.”
Lucifer scoffed a laugh. “Speak for yourself. I brood fabulously.”
She rolled her eyes. He grinned like an idiot. And both stepped into the hotel.
---
Inside, chaos swirled as if nothing had paused while she was gone.
Angel was yelling at Husk. Husk was yelling at Angel. Nifty was climbing the ceiling. Pentious was rehearsing some dramatic speech…
Charlie spun toward the door the moment she saw Death.
Her eyes lit up. “Y/N! You’re back! How did it go? Is everything okay?”
Y/N opened her mouth. The truth pressed against her tongue.
Angels are assholes.
I saw your mother, who looked fine and doesn’t seem to care about you.
But Charlie’s smile froze her.
So Y/N shifted, smoothing her cloak. “There was a… discussion. As expected.”
Charlie blinked. “A bad one?”
Y/N only shrugged. “I’m not Heaven’s favorite. But I handled it.”
Charlie’s brow furrowed. Then, suddenly, her eyes lit up. “What if… I go talk to them?”
Every sound in the room died.
“No,” Y/N said immediately.
“Absolutely not,” Vaggie added.
Lucifer threw his hands up. “Charlie, sweetheart, let’s not go marching into Heaven like you’re delivering cookies to the neighbors!”
Charlie pouted. “But maybe if I explain the hotel to them directly-”
“No,” Y/N repeated. “Charlie, Heaven is not a place that listens. And they’re already hostile toward you simply for existing.”
Lucifer nodded sharply. “That’s right. They don’t exactly appreciate that I reproduced.”
Vaggie slipped an arm protectively around Charlie. “Babe, it could be dangerous.”
Charlie chewed her lip. “But… if I don’t try, then what am I doing all of this for?”
Y/N sighed softly. She admired Charlie’s hope, envied it, even. But this was going to be a disaster.
Lucifer rubbed his temples. “Fine- fine. But you’re not going alone.”
Charlie brightened instantly. “Really!?”
“Your girlfriend goes up with you,” he said firmly. “And I’m opening the portal. You don’t take one step unless I say so.”
Vaggie looked hesitant but nodded. “I’ll keep her safe.”
Lucifer opened a portal of shimmering gold; its glow was warm and terrifying at the same time.
Charlie squeezed Y/N’s hands, “I’ll be okay, promise.”
Vaggie tugged Charlie toward the portal. Lucifer steadied it with a hand on its rim. Just as the portal swallowed the girls, Charlie called back, “I’ll make this work!”
With a final spark, they were gone.
Lucifer let out the longest sigh in the universe. “I’m going to throw up.”
Y/N patted his arm. “She’ll be fine. She has Vaggie. And I already cleared a path.”
A beat.
Then-
“My, my! Our honored guest returns sooner than expected! Twice in a day!” His tone dipped into delighted mischief. “You must really enjoy our company.”
Y/N exhaled. “I’m not here for you. I’m here for the mess.”
Alastor froze, just for a second, but enough for Husk to choke on his booze and for Nifty to gasp.
Then Alastor’s laugh rose, smooth and crackling.
“Ah! That old line.” He placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “You wound me with nostalgia, my dear.”
Lucifer blinked between them. “… Did I miss something?”
Angel looked from behind them. “Wait so… smiley and big boobs here are having inside jokes now?”
Alastor twirled his microphone cane. “Oh, it goes way back. Doesn’t it, darling? Back to when I was causing quite the mess.”
Y/N’s gaze drifted past him.
Louisiana – 1918
The swamp was quiet.
Too quiet.
Alastor wiped his hands on a blood-dark handkerchief, humming under his breath as he dragged what remained of the man into the reeds. The moon hung low, fat and yellow, glinting off the water’s surface.
Then-
The temperature dropped subtly.
The cicadas went silent. The frogs stopped croaking. The moon’s light dimmed.
Alastor stilled.
The first time it happened, he thought it was a coincidence. The second time, a chill. But the third… he learned to expect it.
He smiled without turning around. “Here to take me?” His voice echoed over the dark forest, smooth and amused. Only then does he look back.
And there she was.
A tall, slim, cloaked figure. Nothing visible beneath the darkness of her hood.
Death.
To him, she looked inhuman. Untouchable. A ghost only the dying should see.
She glided forward, the reeds bending away from her feet as if refusing to brush against her. The body on the ground trembled, its soul, sensing her, rose like smoke and drifted toward her hand.
Alastor tilted his head, fascinated.
“Well?” he asked. “Have I finally earned the inevitable?”
Her hood moved, like she was looking him up and down. Then her voice.
“I’m not here for you; I’m here for the mess.”
He blinked, and then he laughed. “Well! Then do allow me to apologize for the state of things. I assure you, I’ve been productive tonight.”
Death ignored the joke. She touched the rising soul with her nails, and it dissolved into her hand like mist. Another life taken, waiting for her in her domain, ready to be judged.
Alastor watched her with interest. “You visit often.” He said. “I’m beginning to think I should leave tea out for you.”
“… I am curious.”
Alastor arched a brow.
“About me? Oh, how forward.”
She tilted her hood, letting him see a peek of her red eyes.
“Why can you see me?” she asked. “Humans don’t see me, not unless they’re dying. And you’re not… Have you been in contact with entities? Forces?”
Alastor’s smile stretched wider. “Well, now, that depends on that you call an entity, cher.”
She said nothing, waiting for the answer.
He sighed dramatically. “I indulge in curiosities. Rituals. Old practices, you know.” He tapped his temple with a bloody finger. “I’ve studied things that reach into the underworld.”
Another step closer, his shoes sinking in the soft earth. “Perhaps they’ve opened my eyes a little more than most.”
The wind rippled. Her cloak shifted with it. She stared at him. “You should be careful who you reach toward, there are no friends in Hell, everyone has their interests.” She murmured.
He grinned wider.
“Oh, I hope you’re not scolding me. I rather like this new arrangement of ours.”
Then, as the thought had stuck him, “So… why me?” he asked. “Why do you always come yourself? Surely there are others dying tonight.”
A long pause. “… I need to have a track of your trail.”
Silence. Alastor blinked, taken aback for the first time that night.
“Well. I must be very special, then.”
...
Y/N blinked after hearing Lucifer clearing his throat loudly, “Well! As lovely as the reunion has been, I… must be off. Important business.”
Y/N lifted a brow. “Rubber ducks that spit fire?”
Lucifer froze mid-step.
“…No.”
“…Maybe.”
With a dramatic snap, he vanished in a poof of glitter and confetti, and the faint sound of kazoo fanfare.
Nifty went straight to cleaning it.
Husk went back to the bar. Angel followed him, already complaining about the lack of popsicles. Pentious returned to tinkering.
Within seconds, the chaos dissolved.
Leaving only two figures in the lobby. Alastor and Y/N.
Her shoulders dropped the moment the noise faded. The exhaustion she’d kept hidden since Heaven finally slipped through the cracks.
She exhaled, undeniably tired.
Alastor observed her carefully, smile softening at the edges. “My, my,” he said lightly, “you look as though you’ve walked through Heaven, Hell, and bureaucracy all in the same hour.”
“… I did,” she muttered.
He extended an arm with a gentleman’s flourish. “Come,” he said. “Allow me the honor of stealing you away for a stroll. Hell may not offer peace, but it does offer distraction.”
She stared at him… and smiled.
“…Alright.”
His grin returned. “Splendid.”
He opened the hotel door with a showy sweep of his cane, letting the crimson twilight spill in.
Y/N stepped outside beside him.
The streets Alastor chose were quieter than usual. No screams, no explosions. Just the hum of distant chaos and the warm flicker of lanterns.
Y/N walked beside him, arm intertwined with his. Alastor kept an easy pace, cane tapping a soft rhythm against the ground.
“You’ve been busy today,” he started conversationally.
“Well, Heaven has been a bitch so…” she replied.
“Oh I know. You should have heard how many priests tried to exorcise me when I was alive. Very rude. Terrible conversationalists.”
She huffed a quiet laugh. They turned a corner, and the landscape opened.
A garden hidden behind buildings, the very center of Hell, where Lucifer and Lilith fell. It’s the oldest part of hell, some sort of replica of Eden, the place they met and fell in love.
Y/N paused. “It’s been so long since I saw this place…”
“You never have time to sightsee,” Alastor replied. “Always working. I thought you deserved something different.”
He stepped ahead and reached toward one of the blood-red roses. He plucked one cleanly and turned back to her, offering it.
“Don’t let Heaven’s arrogance tarnish your crown.” He said, smiling. “This place will always welcome you more warmly than they ever will.”
Y/N took the rose between her fingers, and it wilted instantly. Alastor watched genuinely fascinated.
“Still quite the touch, I see.”
“Everything dies in my hands,” she whispered.
He chuckled. “Oh, don’t sound so tragic. It suits you.”
She hesitated.
“… Thank you.”
They walked deeper into the garden. For a moment, she seemed calmer, her shoulders relaxed, her eyes softening as she looked at the flowers.
Then her breath caught. Her eyes unfocused.
A man gasping as his heart gave out.
A car flipping.
Storm
Fire
Falling
Hospital room.
They struck fast, one after another.
Alastor looked at her. “Dear?”
More visions, flickers, souls roaming lost.
Her jaw tightened. “… Damn it.”
Alastor stepped back, giving her space.
She pressed the wilted rose into his hand quickly. “I have to go,” she said, “I’ve been away for a long time. Their souls will linger if I don’t take them.”
“Of course, cher, duty calls.”
She opened a portal and vanished.
Alastor looked down at the red rose in his hand. With a quiet, thoughtful hum, he tucked it neatly into the pocket of his suit. He patted it once. And went back to the hotel.
Small blurb to try and get me out of my writing rut. Ended up procrastinating like crazy just trying to write it. Don’t talk to me about the way it’s formatted I’ll cry. <3
cw: Nothing too crazy 🌝, Alastor being his typical asshole self. Lovey-dovey ish??? Something going on between you two but idk the right label for it. Oh, and also deer behaviors.
ᵈᶦᵛᶦᵈᵉʳˢ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵇʸ @/ᵘᶻᵐᵃᶜᶜʰᶦᵃᵗᵒ
“Get out of my bed.”
“Hmm… Ask me nicely.”
“Oh my god. Please. Will you get out of my bed, Alastor?”
“…No! I will not.”
You think you feel several of your teeth cracking from how hard your jaw clenches. Waking up because breathing had become a bit more of a challenge and meeting the glowing red eyes of the Radio Demon had certainly been an experience. Top Ten Worst Ones even.
The silent but crackling giggles of static from the Radio Demon makes goose flesh rise alongside every single hair on your body. You’ve only been awake for barely a minute, and every part of you feels taut. Like a live wire that’s close to snapping. It’s very clear that you’re grumpy.
Alastor does not heed nor care for the warning, and he sighs as he nuzzles his cheek deeper into your chest like the spoiled thing he is. Brat.
It is odd how you woke up to him laying on you rather than beside you like he usually does when he’s feeling particularly mischievous evil and perhaps you should feel grateful that you aren’t in the floor nursing a mean bump while the Radio Demon cackles at your misery. Perhaps. Maybe.
“You’re heavy,” You wriggle haplessly under his deadweight pinning your torso, and your efforts are only rewarded with more of those static-laced giggles. How unfortunate that someone as tall as a tree would be just as heavy as a log too. “Alastor, you’re killing me…”
“You, dear, are as dramatic as ever. Even at the crack of dawn! Truly, it’s impressive.” Alastor’s voice is a little looser, you notice. You’re noticing a number of things now that the oxygen you lost in sleep is returning to your brain.
Such as how being forced to lie on your back on a too-soft bed is making you incredibly aware of the stiffness and aches forming in your joints. Soreness in the morning is a taunting guarantee. Alastor is surprisingly without his usual pinstripe coat tonight, and from what you can see, his short sleeves are shoved up to his elbows. The air around you is thick with the smell of the woods and outside; a nostalgic set of scents that you’ve haven’t breathed in since a lifetime ago.
Oh, and also Alastor’s sweat. “And you stink. Like, really bad. What time is it even…”
Craning your head uncomfortably is rewarded with the sight of the antique little clock that replaced the digital one Alastor had ‘accidentally’ broken. The little hand points to the four with mockery.
“Are you serious right now,” Your head thumps back into the pillow as you resign yourself to staring up at the aged ceiling and counting a concerning number of cracks in all the corners. “You have your own room, you know.”
“But I have no bed, dear.”
“So go and do the thing you do. Summon or manifest one. I dunno. That—that can’t be hard for you to do.”
He hums lowly in that drawl that makes your blood warm. Too warm, especially as he buries his faces against you and drags his forehead back and forth over the skin below your clavicles. It’s a long moment of him rubbing against before you clear your throat pointedly, and you jump at how he seems to jerk as if spooked before he laughs jauntily. “I could, but why would I go through all that effort when there’s a perfectly good one available?”
You can feel his eyes on you as he tilts his head upwards, pointed chin digging into your sternum. “Besides, what’s the harm in having a sleepover with my dearest aquaintance? You’re not usually this prickly when I have my impromptu visits. Why the harshness, darling?”
His head bobs with how heavily you exhale. Him considering you an acquaintance is more than you were expecting, to be honest. Especially after how he’s been radio-silent for almost a week while he was gone doing… whatever it is Overlords do, you suppose. This delightful reveal isn’t enough to brighten your sour mood, however. “You. Smell. Funky. Go take a shower or something before you barge into my room.”
“Mm. Too much effort, and I think I smell quite alright. After all, a little dirt never killed anyone. Builds up some old fashioned immunity, in fact.”
“That’s not the point, first of all. And… You’re still wearing your shoes. On my bed. If you don’t get your twiggy ass up off myy-eeUUAAH!”
Your voice pitches higher than it ever has as something warm and wet drags over your collarbone. The smell of blood barely hidden under whiskey-laden breath strikes a chord of panic and triggers your fight or flight.
You give a genuine effort in trying to thrash out from under Alastor as his tongue trails higher before he abruptly pauses to nip at the base of your jaw in a growl so deep you hear it just as much as you feel it in your flesh and bones. The threat of your skin being torn open makes you freeze and your fingers clench into the pillow under your head, chest heaving under his weight.
His breath is hot on your face as he slowly relaxes his jaw muscles, and his following breath is cold against the spit lingering on your skin. He’s never acted like this before, and the bizarreness of his behavior is probably what keeps you from actually grabbing at him and risking an even harsher bite.
“Al-aa-stor, q-quit… ah!” You squeak as he laves his tongue over your neck again. And again, until the wide breadth of his tongue on your skin becomes a repetitive and discerningly soothing sensation. It’s different, the slight roughness of its surface contrasting with the almost unhurried motions of the muscle, and the intimacy of it makes you want to lean into it.
You refuse to examine why you’d want to do that, considering the fact that it’s Alastor of all demons. It’s probably just sleep deprivation. “Why- why are you… you’re not gonna e-eat me, right? Please don’t eat me. Charlie will, uhm…be sad…?” Super convincing.
He hums deeply into his throat, and a tremor rolls through you. Whether in enjoyment or in consideration, you aren’t too sure. Alastor barely pauses his impromptu taste-testing enough to mumble into the skin of your neck, “You stink of modern product and artificial sweetness. Can’t hardly even scent your natural smell without all the chemicals you douse yourself with.”
He seems to tolerate your continued squirming for a few more moments before he nips at the skin just above your collarbone. Your hiss of pain devolves into a shaky whimper as that wet and rough heat swipes over the marks left by his teeth, and he responds with a softened crackle of static.
Long fingers grip your face to cradle your chin and tilt your head to one side, the tips of his claws teasing the edge of your scalp as his tongue licks multiple stripes further along the left side of your neck. You’ve never realized how big his hands are up until this point, and your mind is reeling into mush at the strength you can feel underneath the care. So many new sensations at once. How are you to feel?
“W-well, one of us actually likes to be clean,” There’s little conviction in your tone, unsurprisingly. “A-and I’m sure that—do not lick my ear! That the soap I use is tons better than whatever you used in the 1900s, old man.”
“Hmph, lye soap did the job without any of those nasty chemicals. Half of those ingredients aren’t even pronounceable, and you expect me to think they aren’t poisoning you?”
“Yes. Well, at least on earth, anyway? I’m not sure about what they use here, but- What am I saying, it doesn’t matter. What I’ve got in my shower is probably wayyy better than water kind of tongue-bath you’re giving me right now. And don’t make me bring up how you think cigarettes are some kind of medicinal…!”
Another, sharper nip just barely breaks the skin between your neck and shoulder, ending your rambling. You’re really getting sick of this. You voice raises on something between a growl and a shout before chapped lips press against the surface level wound. All sound dies in your throat at the unfamiliar gentleness of it, and in its place a lump forms that surprises you. Of all the things he’s done since waking you up so early in the morning, Alastor kissing the bite he left is what confuses you the most.
“Forgive me, dear. I’m not… feeling quite myself at the moment.” Understatement of the century. The tremble in his voice that isn’t caused by the usual radio filter makes the lump in your throat tighten and prevent the sarcasm from growing into anything more than a passing thought.
He turns your head to the other side and begins to lave the right side of your neck and collar with the same indulgence. Slow, methodical, and uncomfortably worshipful. Your skin feels raw despite the care—a strange word to use for someone like the Radio Demon—and you barely notice the way Alastor’s ears flick forwards with each small sound he pulls from you.
You have to close your eyes the moment they somehow meet his. His pupils nearly eclipsed the thin ring of his irises, leaving radio dials ticking slowly in a fathomless pit of darkness. The half-lidded look in those eyes held an intensity unknown to you; you’re struggling to remember a time when he’s ever looked at you, or anyone, like that at all. Perhaps you’re imagining it. Perhaps this is all just a strange fever dream.
He lingers on your pulse, his breathing heavy and only slightly unsteady. Maybe he’ll take a real bite this time, follow the temping lull of your cardioid artery and sink his teeth in deep enough to taste. Alastor shushes you when you involuntarily make some pitiful noise deep in your throat, and buries his upturned nose into your skin instead. Breathing slowly, deeply. Breathing you in.
“I’m nearly finished, dear,” He’s so quiet, voice so low and soft that you have to strain to hear him over your blood rushing in your ears. His ears pitch to the sides of his head, twitching lazily as he rubs his forehead just under your jaw. Something wet drips down onto your skin, too viscous to be tears, and his lips brush your skin with each word. “You bring out… the worst of me. You make it so easy. Do you even have a clue, ma sha, how terrible you make me feel?”
You don’t have a response, not verbally. Not when your heart is in your throat.
Your fingers daringly find the bases of his ears and begin to rub small circles. Alastor doesn’t seem to mind much. His body even seems to sink further into you as he focuses on nuzzling that oily substance leaking from his eyes into your skin with the bridge of his nose.
He huffs and chuffs, a rumble shaking his chest as he finally eases up from crowding you, and you can see the streaks of wetness had started from the inner corners of his eyelids and have trailed down in haphazard lines that have lead to you. Those red eyes themselves look clearer now, and what’s left there is something that almost looks… fond.
“All finished,” Alastor says with a chipper sigh as he lets his head fall back down onto your chest, making you wheeze and drop your hands from his head. The moment is completely broken as he chimes, “You smell much more tolerable now. I might even be able to get some shut-eye.”
Your eye twitches. “…Yeah, sure. Cause your spit and musk just smell leagues better than my completely safe and spit-free apple-scented body wash. Right. Whatever. Now get off of me.”
Alastor chuckles before mercifully turning over onto his side. Unmercifully, however, is the way his spindly arms wrap around you to pull you with him until your head is tucked under his chin. Your blanket helplessly clings to your thighs from all the commotion, and it leaves you aware of every part of your body that’s meshing with Alastor’s. He’s warm… and still stinks of the woods and dried sweat.
You don’t mind it as much. It worries you a little.
“So… are we just gonna pretend this didn’t happen,” You ask cautiously, for fear of pushing Alastor away and for letting him hear how your heart hasn’t quite steadied. “Cause we can, y’know. But… I’m still just confused why you did all of that. I guess…”
Alastor sighs deeply. Those same fingers begin to trail up and down your spine, leaving more warmth that follows his touch. Another way to mark you, your heart lurches traitorously. Worse when curls his long body to fit you even closer to him. You can hear his heartbeat now.
“Being without your company has been… enlightening,” The word seems to roll around in his mouth, like it doesn’t fit. Still, he continues, “Coming back to you, smelling of everyone and everything that was not me…”
Alastor makes a noise in the back of his throat. Disgruntled, but not in the way his left hand cups the back of your neck and his right splays over your lower back. It’s enough to leave you off kilter, but that’s a feeling you’ve become familiar with in the last ten or so minutes. “I won’t… bother you with these sorts of moments again, dear. If that’s what you want.”
It’s much too warm now. You blame it all on this stupid deer man who’s wormed his way into your afterlife. It wouldn’t be unreasonable of you to push him out of your bed and demand that he never touch you again, but the thought of Alastor leaving with his tail between his legs, defeated after being so vulnerable with you…
It’s stupid. You’re stupid. Stupid like a lamb cozying up to the wolf as you tuck yourself just a little more into Alastor’s embrace. Just enough to hear his breath hitch, his heart skip a beat.
“Well… for the times when you are missing me most, when you are away for too long and I’ve forgotten how your mouth feels… you may bother me with your instincts as much as you want. W-with a heads up first, preferably…” You swallow after the too bold words leave the clumsy tongue in your too dry mouth that threatens to trip you up, stuttering only a little as you lay out your terms.
The silence that follows is loud. Your ears burn with the embarrassment boiling in your tummy, and you nearly vomit out all kinds of apologies and take-backsies until the hand cupping your nape tilts you back a bit. Lips press to your forehead in a featherlight touch that feels closer to salvation than any kind of trust exercise you’ve begrudgingly done thus far.
“Very well, sweetheart. I promise to give you a ‘heads up’ for when I need to… clean you. That, and I promise to be reasonable in how often I indulge my need. Now,” He settles with a staticky smile as a shadowy tentacle tugs your blanket back up your body. “Let’s get some rest while we can, hm?”
The warmth has settled into mellowness that allows your heart to slow, finally. Reassurance is one hell of a drug, and from Alastor, it’s enough to lull enough to feel the siren’s song of sleep. Your eyes slide shut, your breath begins to even and slow. Sleep is moments away.
There’s still something tickling the back of your mind beyond the edges of sleep. He called you sweetheart. He wants to do this again. He...
“…did you really miss me, Al?”
“Go back to sleep, dear.”
“Ask me nicely.”
You can feel him laughing. Quiet but genuine rumbles as he murmurs into the crown of your head, “Sleep now, and I’ll let you stay in late and keep the Princess from getting you up. Is that nice enough for you?”
It is, and your responding hum of agreement is heavy with sleep. The dream you have is of a forest. The sun is warm, the air is clear, and there’s a safety in the call of a deer that’s carried by the wind.
I miss the early days of alastor x reader * alastor x fem/oc fics bro like those were peak af, I also miss the writers of that time they also had bomb concept/ideas and plots (they are rare these days, no offence, they just don't make it like they used to. And I know I cannot be picky here but by God istg last month on ao3 i've found a story with decently written story description, I opened it only to be sigmarolled, it contained that one word and got repeated over and over and it pissed me tf off so much! Like I was fuming, I wanted to read the story, the description alone was intriguing) (I only have a handful of writers & their stories that I follow here) also a handful of those fics are still ongoing today tho not updating currently cuz yk...life happened, but still.....😭😭😭
Oneshot- Alastor’s secret wife comes to visit him at the hotel
UNEDITED
Calling this a maybe One shot maybe series if i’m motivated enough or ppl like it/ I got bored and wrote this in a few hours while I was decorating my flat and ended up making a whole OC with lore and backstory.
Warnings: For this chapter none other than an implicated threat- shitloads if this becomes a series but we’ll worry about that later!
————-
“Charlie can ya get us some more of those hot tamales for the bar?” Angel’s voice crowed across the lobby as he waltzed in and slammed himself down at the bar, not bothering to look up from his phone.
His lack of manners was grating on Charlie but she was willing to sympathise with his bad attitude, another long day and night shooting was bound to do that.
Her attention on the matter was aptly fractured as the entrance door rattled with a heavy knock. Before the door had time to settle a slinking shadow hand manifested from the wall and cracked open the door, pulling it wide for the visitor.
“Hello Princess Morningstar.” The stranger’s voice carried a direct firmness that mirrored her stance.
Charlie’s eyes were fixed on the woman’s form, there was a likeness to her mother there, tall and elegant. A touch of ice but soft with curves that were evident against her black and red day dress. It sent a shiver through Charlie’s back and an ache in her chest at the thought of her mother.
“Hello! Welcome to Hazbin Hotel! My name’s Charlie Mornin- Oh- I guess you already know my last name duh, but you can call me Charlie!” She sang across the hall, missing Husk’s weary stare from the bar.
“Are you uh looking to be redeemed?” Her excitement flashed to anxiety at the woman’s fixed stare.
The stranger didn’t look annoyed per se, just passive. Like a marble statue she carried a kind of tension that could only be assumed to come from the very fibre of her making. She didn’t look as though she’d come to receive redemption but every sinner deserved a chance, even scary demonesses that hadn’t even taken a single breath since stepping into the room.
“No dear, I’m looking for Alastor.” She flashed a smile that broke across her placid face, carnivorous teeth pushing back against her plum lips as she looked around expectantly.
“Get the fuck outta here Leola.” Husk hollered over, finally pushing himself up from his slump on the bar.
Charlie didn’t understand what was happening but it was exciting to meet someone else associated with her newfound family (or staff members who may or may not be here by force).
“Why Husker, how rude.” Leola tisked.
“Do you forget your manners? Or perhaps they’re somewhere in the bottom of your bottle.” Her words were stern, pinching Husk’s ego from across the vast lobby.
“Husk you know her! How do you know Alastor, are you two friends! We’ve never met any of Alastor’s friends!” Charlie squealed.
“My apologies Miss Morningstar, I believe an introduction is in order.” She cut into Charlie’s rambles before she threw any more questions, leaving her chest feeling like a bag of thrashing cats, vibrating with anticipation.
“My name, as mentioned by our lovely Husker, is Leola.”
The unusual woman gave a polite turn of the head, looking toward Charlie expectantly. A perfectly manicured hand came to meet Charlie’s own, the smaller girl letting it fly up—unthinkingly obeying.
“Hi Leola it’s great to meet you! I don’t think Alastor is here right now but you’re welcome to stick around.”
Charlie hadn’t stopped shaking the woman’s hand, dropping it up and down with the vigour of a small child with each passing syllable.
Leola placed her other hand over the waving mess of Charlie’s, stilling her for a moment and fixing her smile a touch lower, more encouraging than goading now.
“No! Absolutely not!” Husk shouted again, full attention on Leola.
“Can someone explain who Legs is ova there?” Angel’s voice broke the awkward silence as all eyes in the space turned on him.
He took the time to posture himself nonchalantly over the stools, legs folded across the bar. His eyes drifting between Husker and Leola inquisitively.
“She’s trouble is what, I’m not fucking dealing with this mess.” Husk snarled, walking out of the lobby and deeper into the hotel.
“And you must be Angel Dust. Charmed to meet you.”
Leola turned to the spider demon and flashed Angel a predatory grin that was hidden from the starry eyes of Charlie. Angel blanched before gathering himself off the stools and upright.
“Yeah I gotta take a call, see ya later Charlie!” Angel called, exiting the space hot on Husk’s trail with a mind burning full of equal measure fear and curiosity.
Charlie spun round but was too late to catch her guest rounding the corner, only confronting the empty space where he’d been moments before. She looked to Leola with a touch of concerned confusion but the woman only smiled back reassuringly, letting go of Charlie’s hand to press a light touch to her shoulder.
“Perhaps while we wait for Alastor’s return you could fill me in on all the fascinating details about your hotel.”
“OH hell yeah I can give you the tour!” Charlie’s momentary doubts were sucked away by her own enthusiasm to share her work, judgement officially clouded by glee.
The tour led them further through the ground floor of the aging hotel, a well-loved lounge area etched into the side of the foyer overlooking the warped gold metal of the balcony. Leola let out a hum of approval as Charlie explained her hotel’s venture, politely listening along to her excited rambles.
They passed a small traditional kitchen, neglecting to go further inside as they both heard the harsh baritone of Husk’s annoyance penetrating the walls.
“We don’t need to see any more of the kitchen. Honestly it’s kind of outdated!” The young princess cried, shouting out to cover up the leaking gossip.
“Nonsense, your hotel is just darling Princess Morningstar.”
“Oh no please call me Charlie.” She shyly replied, a red hue overtaking her cheeks at the support.
“Of course, Charlie. Should we continue?” Her voice replied, a soft echo against Charlie’s shouts.
Leola gestured toward the hall and the Princess’s sudden embarrassed dismay had her pushing the older woman firmly toward the only updated common area in the building (save Alastor’s touches), the media room.
Charlie looked to Leola with expectant excitement as the woman inspected the site, the warm lighting flooded the bookshelves, illuminating the spines but dim enough for the Voxtech TV’s light to dominate.
“Ah you host some of Vox’s wares. How quaint.” She ran a long blackened finger over the plastic cast, scratching it lightly with a pointed gold nail.
The TV seemed to flicker that same gold for a moment before returning to bouncing the Voxtech logo across the screen. Charlie shook her head wondering if she’d seen it properly, the TV held no evidence of the gold light if it ever was.
“Charlie babe who is this?” The deep voice of Charlie’s girlfriend interrupted her train of thought, filling up the room behind the pair.
Charlie squealed, pulling Vaggie’s arm and hanging off it, dragging her over with an unrestrained grin eating at her face.
“This is Leola! She’s a friend of Alastor. I think…”
The uncertainty at the end of Charlie’s sentence had Vaggie’s hackles raised, steep suspicion carried her bounding feet across the hall in seconds. Scrutinising the visitor like a trained dog, Leola shifted, offering her hand to Vaggie to shake.
“Leola dear, definitely a friend of Alastor.”
Her quick confirmation left Vaggie all the more cautious about the friend of Alastor; the tall and mysterious woman gave her a comforting gaze in return to her hostile one. Despite Vaggies obvious trepidation, when Leola’s hand remained up for Vaggie to take she couldn’t help but acquiesce—taking her hand and spilling her name out.
“Vaggie. I work security at the hotel.” She mumbled out.
“She’s also my girlfriend!” Charlie’s cut-in was met with a warm smile from her partner as she returned to her side.
“It’s a joy to meet you Vaggie.” She replied, the woman’s focus was quickly drawn back to the Princess, “I must say Charlie your hotel is just wonderful. It’s so nice to see your family’s presence back in the pentagram again.”
Her words lit Charlie up, the girl vibrant with the onslaught of positive attention the visitor had bestowed upon her.
A faint hum interrupted her concert, Leola’s ears shifting in place to catch the whispered sound. Charlie’s eyes immediately caught the movement, causing the older women’s ears to twitch against her hair uncomfortably at the sudden glow of the young princess attention to them.
“Your ears look so soft.” She cooed reaching forward slightly, Leola’s smile fell from her eyes momentarily, icing against her features.
The onyx pair of drooping ears twitched again, revealing the underlying soundtrack of static that had been plaguing her since her entrance to the hotel. The static gave a sharp but unregistered shriek, too high for those without sensitive hearing but alerting Leola to the presence of the very man she’d come to see.
“Well well. If it isn’t Lady Morae! Crawling back out of the silence are we?” His flair of shadows pulled across the wall, revealing him from its plundering depths.
“Alastor.” Leola breathed in relief, charlie’s touch impassed temporarily by the interruption. “My very favourite showman, it’s been some time. How do you fare these days?”
She was quick to accept his embrace as he popped back up from a shadow next to her, dropping his face close to her ear—breath fanning against her porcelain skin.
“My lamb, it’s good to see you.”
Her breath hitched, only slightly, but the static hummed low in recognition as the air shifted against the timbre of his voice. Leola soaked her mind in its graceful vibrations, breathing in his physical presence against her.
“Likewise dear.” She whispered quickly back as he pulled away.
They shared a gaze that lasted a moment too long as Charlie took to breaking the still air between the two.
“Soooo how do you guys know each other!”
“We go way back dear, all the way to our living years. He was a big personality, drew in a lot of attention—still does.” Her reply was calculated enough for her to know Alastor would understand the implications behind it.
“Besides we had plenty o’ shared interests, friends and alike, he’s easy company.” Switching back into her joyous façade she gave a playful push of the elbow to Alastor, ensuring a show for the two spectators.
“Indeed this little wolfish thing and I caused chaos all over town. In life and death!” The smile on his face was less sinister and more doting, a confusing expression for the princess and her partner to fathom in contrast to the weeks of twisted grins.
“So you’re actually friends with Shitlord here?” Vaggie asked.
“Why yes I think we’ve covered that pet.” Leola clapped her hands together, gold sigils flowing down her wrists flaring faintly from underneath her sleeves.
Charlie beamed back at Leola and Alastor, ignorant to her partner’s growing suspicions, already mentally loading a new barrage of questions.
Leola seeing the look in the young girls eye caught her voice in her throat before she was able to overwhelm them with more innocent interrogations.
“Vaggie, Charlie dearest would you mind giving me and Al a moment to catch up—Alone.”
“Oh of course you guys must have a lot to talk about!” Charlie sang back merrily, unaware of Alastor’s impatience shadow shifting behind her, “We’ll leave you two to it, we’ll be just down the hall if you need anything and Alastor here is our hotelier so if you have any questions about the tour please feel free to ask him or catch me before you leave!”
“Are you interested in the hotel dear?” Alastor remarked with amusement.
“Who wouldn’t be? The hotel is just charming, Charlie has done an excellent job with the place, you had a hand in it too no doubt.” Leola was diplomatic to a fault, a carved beauty of maternal stone. “A true team effort I’d say.”
“Thank you, we all try our best ma’am.” Vaggie took over the conversation, clasping Charlie’s hand in her own.
“I’m really proud of this place, it’s been a lot of work but Al’s help recently has made all the difference.” It was hard not to notice the princess’s partner bristling at her lover’s words, leading her out of the room quickly.
“See ya guys, it was lovely meeting you Leola!” Charlie called out before a shadowed claw swung the door shut behind the women.
In the emptied room the air hung between the two overlords like a stone over a cliff, ready to collapse into sand and send shrapnel flying. Neither knew where to start after so long and so much unsaid.
“Strange, seven long years and the air still hums the same tune.” She was the first to push the stone, tempting its fall.
“Indeed, I’m sorry dear girl. Those ghastly restraints were tightened.” His guilty tone felt unnatural against the Cheshire grin spread across his face.
Leola longed for the times where he could show her plainly his emotions, write them on his face for her to digest into understanding. But alas the tolls of Hell only racked up against them.
“I imagined so. There’s been a lot of movement while you were gone. The crown’s stirring, you’re not the only one, as you so eloquently put it—restrained.” she sighed, the first show of truth since her entrance into the grounds of the Morningstar establishment. “He’s calling for more than just souls this time.”
“I can’t let you interfere with the hotel, my love.” His tone was almost regretful, on the side of resentful as he spat out the words.
It pulled a chord of amusement in the woman, to know they were stuck at opposite ends once again working for the goal.
“Who said anything about interfering.” The air buzzed with motion, a flicker of static mixing with something darker and ancient. “I’m just here to help.”
The devilish grin on her face matched his own, the motion voiceless between the two but understood all the same.
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